Behemoth & Leviathan
by LexLuthor13
Summary: In the Mighty Marvel style, the Prince of Atlantis and the Lord of Latveria clash swords and egos over a recent UN decision favoring Namor. But Doom has other ideas in mind and seeks to turn Namor's success to ruin as only a technocratic dictator can!
1. Veritas

**New York.**

**The United Nations.**

"Mister Secretary General, Mister President, distinguished delegates, ladies and gentlemen…"

The King of Atlantis stood at the lectern, hands clasped around the edges, operating—or so he thinks—behind the safety of a tough front. The black bolero jacket sat uncomfortably, and every few moments he shifted his stance.

_He is nervous_.

The lord smiled behind the cold steel faceplate. And listened.

"I have spoken to this body previously," Namor said, "of the need for this colony. The resolution comes to a vote today, ladies and gentlemen, and I urge you once more to vote your consciences. For too long Atlantis has been denied the sovereignty which this body has extended to other nations. Let the island nation of Genosha stand as an example of the work this body can do for the betterment of Man."

The lord raised one armored hand slowly. Namor sighted it. His brow furrowed, and he hesitated to acknowledge the speaker.

"Yes?"

The Speaker rose form his seat, on the next level down from Namor. "The chair recognizes the delegate from the principality of Latveria."

The lord stood. His eyes met Namor's.

"Was not Genosha a country built on apartheid, Namor? With the self-styled Master of Magnetism ruling Hammer Bay, apartheid has become anti-humanism—how do you say, a rose by any other name. You stand there as a man who seeks to make the ocean his exclusive domain. Majora is the first step in this plan of yours. Tell me, King of the Seas…how am I to take you at your word? What keeps Majora from becoming the militant arm of Atlantis—and ferrying the willpower of its leader?"

"The presence of Majora has been settled on for some time, Victor. For the probationary period this body has agreed to, Majora's right to exist will be subject to review by the Security Council," Namor's voice went guttural briefly. "That should be enough for you."

The Lord of Latveria narrowed his eyes and sat back in his seat quietly, and waved an expressive hand toward the lectern. _Yes. Quite enough_…

The speaker rose again. "The delegate from Latveria defers to Prince Namor."

"Thank you, Mister Speaker," Namor muttered. He looked at the Lord of Latveria once more, and then tracked his gaze across the assembly. "Put it to a vote, delegates. Now."

The Speaker rose. "We shall recess for one hour, during which time the delegates will cast their votes. This session is adjourned." He pounded his gavel. Slowly, the delegates across the assembly stood and dispersed as free range livestock. Namor followed T'Challa out of the assembly hall.

The Lord of Latveria stayed in his seat, leaned forward and steepled his fingers.

* * *

**Two days later.****Latveria.**

The nation lies nestled within the Carpathian Mountains—surrounded by them, in fact, on all sides. In the fading days of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, Latveria had been only one of several regions which committed men and might to the Great War. Symkaria borders Latveria to the south; Hungary, Serbia and Romania comprise the other nations locking the country in place. But Latveria is not party to the sociopolitical problems which have plagued the Balkans rather since the end of the first World War.

Its leader would have it so.

Latveria, with few exceptions, stays out of world affairs. It has better things to do. This is not to say, though, that in its capital of Doomstadt, in the so aptly-named Castle Doom, Latveria's Lord does not know of international affairs.

He is known to be ever vigilant. Ever critical. And on occasion, he inserts himself in politics where he deems his hand worthy. Such as now. Where the only lights discernibly burning in Castle Doom emanate from the highest point in the west tower. The peasants know to stay away from the castle, unless its issue requests them—and that is only rarely.

For now, the castle is quiet. And in the highest room of the west tower, the Lord of Latveria has requested audience with another—has requested an opinion. A most unusual request.

"—Or have you not introduced yourself all these years," the lord says with contempt, "as King of Atlantis?" The lord stops before a free-standing globe of the world, circa 1453. The lord runs an armored hand over the relief of Africa.

"You know what you can do with your offer, von Doom." The King hovers a half-meter above the floor, as if to make himself look greater in the eyes of the lord. But then, the lord is smart—smart enough to dispel notions of foreign supremacy. Especially from this foreigner.

Namor. The mutant king of Atlantis. Clad in his ever tiresome garb of dark, with a form-fitting bolero open at the chest. He purposefully reeks of overexerted masculinity, and a false consciousness of superiority.

The lord of Latveria is not impressed—anymore at least. There was a time when he had considered an alliance with Namor. It was only after a profound miscalculation that the lord realized certain of this world's rulers…differed from him in their estimations of power and control.

Behind the iron faceplate, the lord allows himself a judicious frown. He pulls a compass from a nearby oak table and angles a trajectory on the globe's face, tracing an arc across the globe from Wundagore Mountain to the southeast…to Madripoor in the Far East, turning the globe slowly as he goes.

"My offer…is a chance at godliness, Namor. And you have once again refused me, as you have always done. Do you not remember our once-great alliance?" the lord asks, feigning enthusiasm. "We had the family in our clutches, and while my desires have since grown beyond humbling Richards...my indefatigable sense of honor compels me to do this and to ask your assistance. The world is beginning to forget Victor von Doom. This is untenable."

"And you hope to learn new lessons from the past?"

The lord traces the compass trajectory over with a quill pen. "You and I share a mind, Namor. We are sovereigns, we are leaders. We are men of action. We belong to fame, and fame to us."

"You suggested that I join you, Victor. Subordinate myself before…what was it, 'the glory of Doom?' All so you could continue this ridiculous little jealousy against Dr Richards."

"That is the long and short of it, yes," the lord says, consciously permitting the vernacular. "And I still await your response."

Namor frowned and lowered to the floor. "Your sense of honor cripples you, Victor."

The lord turns shortly and sets the compass and quill back in their places on the desk. He looks at the globe once before facing Namor fully.

"Clearly, your affection for Susan has clouded your mind." The lord thinks about it for a moment. "Or has your cold heart finally broken after so many refused advances?"

Namor lifts off the ground again. His shoulders arch and his chest broadens in anger and anticipation. "How dare you?" His voice is restricted—whispered—anger.

Behind the iron faceplate, the lord's eyes narrow; his lips purse.

"You and Richards have your scruples; I cannot be bothered with such conventions. You forget leverage, Namor. I speak of your own child, that precious colony of Majora which the United Nations and the United States and every other united body on this undeserving mud ball sought fit to give you…out of the goodness of their hearts."

"You did not even vote for Majora," Namor says tightly. "You think you have a right to pass judgment on it?"

The lord waves uncaring hand. "The project's genesis interests me. You asked it into existence, and the world tacitly allowed it? What of Colonel Fury? What of the Avengers? What of Richards?"

"Majora exists as a satellite of Atlantis, Victor. Its subjects owe their loyalty to me. Not to Richards, nor the United States. And certainly not to SHIELD."

"Then what is to stop those bodies from encroachment, Namor? When Jakarta and Madripoor decide your little upstart can no longer be tolerated? When they decide its power is too great to survive…unaided?" The lord stepped in close to Namor. "They will come for you, and for your children, and they will attempt to legislate your behavior, Namor. They will attempt to control you, and your tacit quiescence will only accelerate the process. I can help you," the lord says, rasping behind the faceplate. "Do stop me if I begin to sound too much like a certain Master of Magnetism."

Namor lowers to the floor. His arms fall motionless to his sides. Five minutes of silence pass.

"Tell me," the lord said judiciously. "What will you do? When that comes to pass?" The lord waited, and when a response never came, he pushed forward. "Listen to me. When you asserted Majora's right to exist at the United Nations, you were very fortunate they did not laugh you off the stage."

"They wouldn't dare!"

"What's to stop them?" the lord asks. "Do you believe they take you seriously, Namor? Sitting down there in your underwater kingdom, you have no place in world politics, or so they think."

The lord turns away. He slides behind the oak desk again and opens an old atlas, thick and dusty with the accumulation of age and wear, to an indiscriminate page. He goes to the globe again and starts a new trajectory, aiming from Byelorussia across the Atlantic. By his silence, the lord allows Namor to contemplate the future.

"Unless _we_ stop them," the lord adds, and looks back to the atlas. "Think about it."

Namor's lips contort, displeased. He raises a hand to Doom's porter—an elderly, hunched man in a fading tweed jacket and corduroys, standing motionless at the oversized double doors leading to the parlor. The porter heaves one door open with great difficulty. The King of Atlantis lifts into the air.

"Your promises are empty, Victor. I shall fight for what is mine—on _my _terms. Good day."

The lord of Latveria looks up and watches Namor leave. His eyes narrow.

"Boris," he says with force. "Come."

The old man obliges, shuffling toward the lord.

The lord turns from the globe. His cape sweeps around him in one motion, and he gather the length up, tossing it over one arm.

"That went well."

"Yes, Master."

The lord turns to his servant, and under the cold iron mask allows himself the briefest of smiles. "Namor must learn detachment—must learn he cannot always get what he wishes. How do we go about affecting this, Boris?"

The old man bows his head, ever obedient. "It is not my place to answer, Master."

The lord extends one arm toward the genuflected old man, and brings the wizened head, bowed in fealty, to see his own visage. The prescient silence of the iron mask, the regality of the dress and stance. The utter belief, in everything the lord says and everything the lord does, of a man who looks as if the entire world is before him, and seeks desperately to bring it to account.

"I shall retire to my laboratory now. Have the Servo-guards transcribe the coordinates and bring them to me."

"Yes, Master," the old man says, his voice a fractured whisper.

The old man kissed the signet ring on the lord's armored third finger. Under the iron grating, the lord smiles.

"Whom do you serve?"

"Doom."

* * *

**_ Continued... _**


	2. Judged by our acts

**Genosha.**

**Hammer Bay.**

"And I thought Stephen was solely skilled in astral projection. Do wonders never cease, von Doom?"

"Fewer skilled at visible manifestation. Making myself visible to you and not just a voice in your head requires more concentration than Strange requires to dress himself. He fears such exertion."

Slouched in his throne on a dais three feet higher than the rest of the room, the Master of Magnetism frowns.

Under the faceplate half a world away, projected by use of magic and willpower, Doom scowls.

"Am I to assume it is in your nature to be this ostentatious?" Magneto's voice is calm as he steeples his fingers.

"No."

"Then what are you doing here, Victor?"

"I have come to ask your opinion."

Magneto leans forward in his throne. "How unexpected."

"I suspect," Doom says. His astral form clasps its hands behind its back and begins pacing. "That you and I share similar ideals on, shall we say, humanity's highest good. We are kings, Magnus."

"You can stop there," Magneto says. He rises from the throne and steps down the dais to an even level with Doom. "I have seen the video feeds."

Doom allows himself slight discomfort at the thought of not having discovered Magneto's spies. "How did you go unnoticed?"

"We have our secrets, Victor. Get to your point."

Doom speaks without trepidation. "If your methods of surveilling Castle Doom are so fine as to evade my notice, then you know of the offer I made Namor."

"I recall some vagaries about nationalism and Singapore. Truthfully my attention was elsewhere." Magneto stares Doom in the face, and thinks about it. "You're going to do a very characteristic thing, aren't you, Victor? Destroy the Baxter Building like you do every six months or so? Or something more grandiose…storming Bifröst Bridge with your robots, perhaps?"

"Mutant," Doom says flatly. "For the sake of our burgeoning friendship, do not try my patience. I seek to illustrate a simple point."

"Namor," Magneto says, remembering the spy video. His aged lips curl into a smile.

Doom nods once. "He has long been an impediment to my goals."

"Your goals," Magneto says. His voice is suddenly harsh. "Your goals have always been provincial, Victor. You want to destroy Richards and everything he stands for, so your glorious feudalism can overtake this world. So that you can run this pitiful mudball from on high, is that it?"

Doom's arms drop to his sides, pulling his cape close to his body.

"One could say the same for you."

"Indeed," Magneto says. "And now you're going to incite war to prove superior?"

"Yes," Doom says. "Majora."

Magneto's gaze locks on the Lord of Latveria.

"The colony?"

"Yes."

Magneto's expression hardens as he thinks through the scenario.

"What do you need from me, Victor?"

Doom folds his arms over his chest again, and allows himself an inner swelling of pride. "Your solemn league and covenant, your authority as sovereign of Genosha…in fealty to the glory that is Doom. I shall reward you handsomely for your tacit compliance in this latest gambit. On this," he concluded, "you have the word of Doom, who always keeps his promises."

* * *

**New York City.**

**The Baxter Building.**

_You've been in the lab for days. Like you always are. You haven't seen our children in days. Like usual. You're up to your neck in your "work" and you can't even find time to sit down to dinner with your family. Like usual._

_You can't even bother to speak to me._

"Reed."

"Mm?"

_Say something, Sue._ "What are you doing?"

"Well, Sue, I've been thinking."

"You need to come out of there." _That damn think tank of yours._

"In a moment, darling. Hank and I are working on the newest batch of security-bots for the Majora compound."

_Compound? It's not Jurassic Park, Reed._

"Honey, I'm begging you. It's been three days. If you won't come out for me—which you'd do well to—then at least come out for Ben. He's getting cranky. You know how he gets when nothing's happening."

The glass pod hisses and two halves slide open. Reed assumes his natural form in front of me. Keep smiling, honey.

"You're right." He kisses me on the forehead. "A study break never hurt."

"Thank you." He gets points for listening to me. "So what about these security robots?"

"Oh they're fascinating, Sue, absolutely fascinating. We incorporated the power cells from Tony's armor and even some propriety designs of Victor's I've come into over the years. We built them on Hank's Ultron platform but gave them a 2 operating vector, which means they'll follow orders without developing sentience."

"HAL 10,000. Is that it?" I follow him into the kitchen.

"More like HAL 8. Rampaging robots built off the original are the last thing we need, so we bumped the self-awareness latitude to just above zero. We've got to prove to Turtle Bay that Namor's ideas are worth looking at. A certain percentage of the Atlantis population is already moved into a completely sustained ecosphere, with more on the way to occupy the housing units. It really is quite revolutionary what we've done there."

_Hmm_. I pull a soda from the refrigerator, and pause.

"Sue?" he asks. "What is it?"

"Nothing. You just make it sound so mechanical."

"It helps me detach." I hand him the soda and kiss his forehead. "Thank you."

"I know, but there is such a thing as passion. I mean, that's what got us where we are. You and your rocket, I mean."

"I know, dear." His brow furrows. "That was a long time ago, and I don't want to get too attached to this project—or to Namor. And I think he wants the same. He asked me as a favor to build it for him, and I called Hank and Tony. At any rate the UN's only given him eight months."

"Eight months?"

"Eight months for Namor to prove to the Security Council Atlantis has a stake in world affairs. This colony of his is a stepping stone."

"What happens when eight months are up?"

Reed leans back in his seat and runs a gloved hand though graying temples.

"I guess that's up to Namor. And anyone else interested in the outcome."

* * *

**The SHIELD Helicarrier.**

**One thousand feet over Toledo, Ohio.**

The call comes through to Fury's secretary, astonishingly enough. She then patches it through to Fury's private-line communicator. He's seated at the far end of a circular table in the Helicarrier's foremost conference room. The one even the President of the United States needs a particular day-pass to enter.

Currently, Colonel Fury is deeply immersed in paperwork—the price one pays for a life leading the espionage and logistics wing of the United Nations. A lesser man might be slumped over his work, complaining about the futility. Not Fury, though. He thinks, as he signs his name to countless forms, that he's seen worse.

Paperwork doesn't exactly beat Nazis trying to kill you…

The transmitter on his belt buzzes three times.

"Yes?" he says. It's voice-commanded; he doesn't have to lift a finger. Simply speaking opens the line.

"You have a priority one alert from Madripoor, sir."

"Alright," Fury replies. "Audio."

"Colonel Fury?" The voice on the other end speaks in a slight falsetto, with feverish quickness. Worried.

"Agent Hill, what is it?"

"I'll try to keep it brief, sir, but…there's been some kind of accident."

"Accident?"

"I was aboard a sub-carrier when it occurred, just over Singapore." Even through the distortion, Agent Hill's voice is hushed. Quivering. She's afraid, Fury thinks, but not of me.

"Maria, listen," Fury says evenly. "Just tell me what happened."

"There was a missile, probably launched from the mainland, maybe Hainan, we're still working on it. Intel caught it just before it went into the ocean, and by then it was too late. A second or two later, it was like Hiroshima. I'm sending the security log to you."

"Fine," Fury says, and presses a button on his belt. A line opens on all frequencies throughout the Helicarrier. "Colonel Fury to Agent 13. Report to the situation room for an emergency briefing."

A concave screen across the room lights up with the images, and captions across the bottom.

Fury looks up from his paperwork and tents his fingers. His brow furrows at the images.

The security log is first. A shaky image, not befitting SHIELD's technological capabilities, portrays a small black wisp in the distance. Far beyond the sub-carrier's bow, almost to the limit of the horizon.

"Pause. Magnify," Fury requests of the computer. "Five and twenty."

The image zooms rapidly on the dark spot, and when it clears, shows the undeniable outline of a missile. Fury scowls, and plays the video through. The missile arcs high in the sky, clipping the bottoms of low-lying clouds. It reaches apogee almost unnoticed and then steers toward the ocean, inserting itself among the waves with silent efficiency. The camera stays on the site. When the explosion comes, it sends up water and flotsam hundreds of feet in the air. So much so that the security camera rocks in its place and winks to static only moments after the eruption.

"Colonel Fury?"

"Yes?"

"We're ahead of you on divers, sir. The images should be coming through presently."

Fury looks to the screen. The static changes to an underwater view—a camera descending through the temperate waters. Fury watches for two minutes before the image—a delayed feed—comes into view.

Ruin.

Absolute ruin.

An underwater city reduced to a pile of rubble, a shattered and lifeless and, were it not for the water, would-be flaming shell of whatever it was before. But there's something strange. A symmetry to the destruction. An order. A certain…pathology.

He relegates the cigar to one corner of his mouth and inhales deeply, allowing himself to feel the smoke.

"Maria," he says delicately. "Please say what I'm thinking."

"Majora, Colonel Fury."

Fury exhales, taking care to do so, and massages his temples. _Dammit_. "Who else knows about this?"

"Intel says copies of the video you're seeing were sent to three locations in Embassy Row. Wakanda, Genosha, and Atlantis."

"Perfect," Fury says, and stubs the cigar out in a nearby ashtray. "Keep me posted." Fury slides away from the table and slouches

"Where the hell is Agent 13?" Fury mutters.

"Already here, Nick."

Agent 13—_Sharon_, Fury reminds himself, _Sharon Carter_—on top of business. Dependable. With so very few exceptions, as ever. Agent Carter, standing near the door with a slight crook in her posture, with a weighty accordion file held loose under one arm.

"Good," Fury says, and directs her to sit. "That file, I assume, has to do with this?"

Carter smiles and taps her nose once. She slides the file across the desk to Fury.

"You just saw the images, and I received a streaming feed on the way here. What you're looking at, Colonel, is hard evidence that's been telling us for years that we should've seen this coming. You're looking at the collected briefs, every field report, every debriefing dossier from every sleeper we've ever sent into Latveria."

Fury glances at Carter. "Convince me."

"Well," she says and stands. She pulls a remote from a belt pocket and presses a single button. The screen, focused on the central pile of rubble, pixelates as it zooms in. Then it clears. At the top of the rubble, waving as much as underwater currents allow, planted firmly in the collected rubble and fallen arch of a passageway, a flag. "There's this."

Fury leans back in his chair and breathes deeply again. He recognizes the standard.

The flag is a green field, with an off-centered black cross and red bordering, and a geometric shape in the center of a circular black field gives a rudimentary representation of the sovereign's trademark attire.

Fury hesitates for only a moment. "Are we sure?"

Carter's face hardens. "This wasn't the Mad Thinker, I can tell you that much."

Fury stands and slowly circumvents the table. "Only reason I ask is because that footage Agent Hill sent me looks like it was taken from Ballard's thing on the Titanic. When did we start phoning it in on surveillance?"

She chuckles.

"Don't laugh! This ain't the Discovery Channel!"

Fury slides past Agent Carter. The conference room doors open for him, and he stops in the threshold, half-turning to Carter.

Fury's lips part only a centimeter. "We're gonna need all the help we can get." He steps into the corridor, looking both ways as if searching for answers, before turning back to Carter.

"Call Stark," Fury says shortly. "And Reed. They'll want in on this."

* * *

_** Continued... **_


	3. In Bad Faith

**The Baxter Building.**

Enterprising as ever, Reed Richards sat perched on a stool, peering into a microscope. One arm wrote calculations by rote on the tabletop to his right; the other hand stretched across the room, recalibrating and entering new clearance codes on the most secret of Dr. Richards' experiments.

In the midst of all this, he spoke to Colonel Nick Fury nonchalantly. "The flag is certainly a giveaway, as your Agent 13 deduced. But I wonder why he sent copies to the embassies?"

"Your answer's as good as mine, Reed. That's why I called you. Guess I lucked out that you weren't off in the Negative Zone or some damn place."

Reed laughed and smiled fondly. "No, not for another week anyway. It's been a rather dry month as far as adventuring goes. We haven't heard a peep out of anyone too serious, though Dragon Man did see fit to wreck a Little League Game in the Bronx; all things considered though we're still doing very well; why just last week I sold off a patent for a self sharpening shaver that Norelco simply ate up. But about the Negative Zone, we've had some troubles with the portal energy converters and—"

"Reed, listen," Fury said, exasperated. "Just get up here as fast as you can. The rest of them are waiting."

"Fine," Reed said. "Computer: give me the household line, access code June Cleaver nineteen fifty-seven to nineteen sixty-three."

A moment later: "Reed?"

"I'm sorry to interrupt you, Sue, I'd hoped to catch you before you jumped in the shower, but there's something I need to tell you. Join me in the lab?"

"Well, darling, it's a little odd walking among your instruments in a towel, you know. Can it wait? Or better yet—can you come talk to me for a change?"

Reed thought about it. _My way is more efficient._

"No. Listen. Something major's happened with Namor's new colony. I know you think the world of him, so I thought you could do me this one favor and be the bearer of bad news."

Silence. "Great. Thanks Reed."

The line fades to static.

"Sue?"

* * *

**The South China Sea. **

**One hundred miles northeast of Singapore.**

He dives into the water like the expert he is. The blue marble ocean hits him in the face at 500 miles an hour; he only winces and tightens his fists and keeps going.

They will pay. He tells himself they will pay.

The pressure increases. The light fades, the closer he gets.

Majora had been situated at the base of an oceanic ridge—one that run up to the surface and formed the southernmost point of the Malay peninsula. It had been designed that way. Easy transportation, said Dr Richards.

He remembers the dispatch from mere moments ago.

_"Namor, this is Susan Richards. I'm talking to you no an open line for what Reed tells me are security purposes. The UN General Assembly is listening right now, and I'm going to be as blunt as I can. Namor? Can you hear me?"_

_"Yes, Susan."_

_"Where are you?"_

_"Clearing Bangladeshi airspace. Why?"_

_"Can you see it yet?"_

_"See what?"_

_"Just dive. You'd better find out for yourself."_

In the distance, through the water and flora and fauna, a light. Barely there, but a light nonetheless. Amazingly, even this far down in the ocean, light still penetrated. A small octopus, feeling Namor's presence and shockwave through the water, turned grey and wheeled across a small clearing, squeezing under an outcropping that was its home. Sea flowers, gelatinous polyps that grow from the sand at night, shrunk back in their holes as Namor glided over them. A shark glided around Namor and flanked his right side. Other tiny night things puffed jets of silt out of their jets as Namor came and went past them.

Now the landscape changed. A meadow of swaying long grass showed ahead, waving languid with the current. Further beyond, a group of crabs scuttled over a small promontory. The light grew brighter.

Namor's jaw tightens, and his lips twitch. Fighting tears.

The King of Atlantis fears the worst and does not cry.

The pressure increases.

Namor crests a reef and slows instantly to a dead hover. A half-mile ahead of him, through the water and coral wildlife, sits Majora.

Ruin. Absolute ruin.

The protective dome is no more. Probably vaporized on impact of whatever it was that did this.

There are no flames. Just rubble. Piles upon piles of it. Namor navigates closer, to the circular perimeter of the city, and lifts a fallen column away over a collapses transept. This had been a temple. Now it is simply a hole in the ground.

Namor rolls the column away and lays it down with care in an open spot. He thinks for a moment. And decides to walk through the city.

In the amalgamated flotsam and jetsam above him hang microscopic particulates and larger objects whose mass only permits them hovering capabilities. And…and bodies. There are too many.

_So many…_

He propels himself up to one. Child by the looks of things. Dressed in a paramilitary armor customary of all Atlanteans; purple chest armor, the tattered remnants of a cerulean cape around his neck.

_This young one was merely in the wrong place. He must have been swept up in the aftermath…the fallout. Poor child._

Namor reaches toward the dead boy and looks in his dead, open eyes. Not hateful, Namor notes, as they should be. His lips are curled into a deceptive and thin smile, his face a flushed and near-white albino. One of his arms still clutches a mock-trident—a child's play thing made of compressed calcium.

_I was too late. This young one has been dead too long._

_Not too late to avenge your countrymen…_

Namor lowered to the city floor—formerly cobblestoned, now upset and obliterated by a mystery.

_An enigma. Does not the King of Atlantis seek his revenge?_

Yes.

Namor cradles the young boy in his arms, taking care to secure the play trident, and propels away from the city. He finds a fallow depression just before an ostentatious reef, and digs the grave himself. He covered the site back up and planted the trident in the soil.

He surveyed the ruin for another three hours.

And then he found the epicenter, and the light that had drawn him to the ruin in the first place: a portable sodium filament utility, situated at the highest point on a centered pile of rubble, shining its deceptive light on the flag planted in the middle—king of its own hill.

He recognized the sigil.

He propelled up to the crest of rubble and pulled the flag out of the ground, bunching the material to the pole.

His jaw clenched, and he snapped the flagpole in half. Kicked the utility lamp away, throwing up dirt and flotsam as it tumbled down the incline.

Namor felt himself shaking.

And cursing the criminal in this act.

_Doom_, he thought.

_**Doom**_.

When he said the name aloud, he almost choked on it, and threw up more debris, and swore he felt the water tremble.

A moment later he was gone, rocketing out of the water at the highest speed he could muster.

* * *

**The SHIELD Helicarrier.**

**Two thousand feet over midtown Manhattan.**

"Thank you, Agent Hill. Remain on standby." Fury turned away from the computer console and ran one hand through his hair.

"Well?" he asked. "Any ideas?"

Reed Richards, world famous leader of the Fantastic Four, turned to one side. "Not me," Richards said, and pointed to his right. "Him."

Johnny Storm's posture slacked a bit.

"Great. Namor's gonna love me..."

* * *

_**Continued...**_


	4. Manners

**Latveria.**

**Castle Doom.**

The lord stands before a three-dimensional wraparound projection of the world. He zooms in on the SHIELD Helicarrier—the projection gives him a real-time view—and watches the craft for an interminable time.

After twenty minutes, a hatch on the main deck slides open. A sole body, that of a man, lifts into the air and lights itself on fire.

_Jonathan_.

Under the cold iron mask, he raises one eyebrow.

_No. Not a man. A boy._

_An impudent pup who never learned to fly._

"Follow," the lord commands the computer. "Maintain secrecy."

* * *

**The Atlantic Ocean. Three hundred nautical miles from the Azores.**

Okay, Johnny. Okay. Okay.

Reed's trusted you with this big important thing. Track down old whatshisface King of Atlantis and persuade him—'cuz you're the only one that knows how—to call off whatever strike he's planning against Doom and Latveria.

_"Why exactly am I doing this, Reed? I mean…convince me."_

_"If Namor starts a war with Victor, he can sustain it. He has the resources and we all know Victor does too. Two rival egos clashing over spilt milk could spill over into our problems, Johnny."_

_"You sound so theatrical when you say it like that."_

_"Just…please do this for me, Johnny. An international conflict between two men that absolutely hate each other can only end in tears."_

And so it goes, Johnny. This is what you get for complaining that you never get to do anything. This is it, this is your life. At sea—or in the air, rather—for five hours with nothing to show except for the sun beating down on your neck and causing an old-school pain in the ass, and—

Wait a second.

There's probably some fine chicas down there someplace. Dying to get a glimpse of the Human Torch in all his glory.

Hmm.

* * *

**Latveria**. 

The lord watches as a sonic boom throws Jonathan from his daydreams. He hovers in the air for minutes, trying to make sense of what's just happened, and as usual his intelligence is marred only by his immense pride.

Under the cold iron mask, the Lord rolls his eyes.

Then it happens.

You missed him, Jonathan.

* * *

**The Ocean.**

Oh.

"Oh."

Catch him, Johnny. Son of a bitch just boomed right past you and didn't say anything. How rude. No time. Flame on and keep it in fourth gear.

This is it, Johnny. You're traveling at nigh-on a hundred miles an hour or so, and Namor's still pulling away from you. Ratchet up, Johnny. Catch up to him!

Every muscles burns—oy—and you're getting closer.

"Namor! Hey! Namor!"

He ignores you. How rude.

Give it an extra push and catch up to him. Your arm flames off and you clap his shoulder.

He stops immediately and you don't. He stops and the inertia wreaks havoc on your stomach as you flip around and right yourself.

'What is it?" he asks and straightens his posture, folding his arms over his chest.

"Well, at least you're hearing me out."

"You have five seconds."

Okay. "Okay, so Reed thinks you're going to kill Doom and you can't because that would screw us all over and so we hope you really don't so please don't and is any of this getting through to you because I don't want to go back empty-handed you know?"

He rolls his eyes and his posture slacks.

"Richards told you this, did he? And what would prompt such a breach of honor? First he sends his wife to tell me of my colony's destruction, and now he sends you to quell whatever fear is in his malleable heart!"

Yes. No.

"Maybe." Nice going, John Boy.

Namor gets in my face and taps a rather bossy finger on my sternum.

"Run home…**boy**. And tell your masters they cannot contain my wrath anymore than they already have!"

Nothing else, and he turns and rockets away like usual.

I believe you just got served, Johnny.

"No way," I say quietly, not even believing it. And then louder, all teeth-clenchy: "no freakin' way!"

Flame on full power and pursue.

* * *

**Latveria.**

The lord allows himself a slight scoff.

Poor Jonathan. Poor, poor, predictable Jonathan.

The lord closes his eyes and focuses on the boy's mind.

_Whenever shall you learn?_

* * *

**The Ocean. Five miles over the Azores.**

He's flying…weirdly. Erratically even, or so my word of the day calendar would have me believe.

It's this weird kind of double helix flight pattern we have. He spins and loops between and among the clouds. He's trying to lose me. And where's he trying to go?

Atlantis.

Damnation. It's a big day for brainpower, Johnny.

He rises in the air a half mile ahead of me, arching over a very puffy nimbus. Sins 360 and heads back the way we came. Follow.

In the distance, a 747 is crossing my field of vision and his too.

We get up close and personal to it in no time, that's how fast we're going. He skims not a foot from the outer hull, and I do the same. I flame off the stomach and front side of my body, lest I cause another international incident.

He turns over and finally decides to notice me, and veers away toward the top of the airplane. I take a steep turn and get within arm reach. Grab him, Johnny. Grab his ankle and take him in and do something for once.

Then he pulls away.

_Whenever shall you learn?_

What?

_He is going to New York. Head him off._

Reed?

_Emphatically no._

We're still cruising a foot above the 747. Namor's crouched on the hull, just above the cockpit, riding like he controls the damn thing.

Calm down. Approach him like that guy approaches the crocs on Animal Planet. Nice and easy.

"Namor?!"

His head half turns, and He lifts into the air.

"Stay away! This is not your fight!"

He kicks me in the chest, and I'd fall off the plane but for, y'know, flaming on.

The plane leaves us as he lifts away from it and speeds away again. Not again. Fourth gear immediately, Johnny.

No mercy. No mercy. Just catch him and give him the haymaker of the gods.

Yes. You're catching up. Closer.

Then…he stops. Turns abruptly and locks one very strong arm around my very weak throat. You like your neck, Johnny, so try not to plead for your life from teary eyes. Think like Ben. What would Ben do?

Low blow? Nah, that's low.

Namor pulls me close to him, and from behind clenched teeth and rather stinky fish breath:

"You will not forestall my judgment, boy!**  
**

* * *

**Latveria.**

The lord watches as Namor chokes the boy. Chokes him to the point of unconsciousness, and then drops him as a pack animal drops a load. Five miles straight down. Five miles to the ocean, and slamming into it at—

The lord does the math.

—two hundred miles an hour.

Good-bye Jonathan.

"Power down," the lord commands the computer. He stands and gather the excess length of his cape over one arm. "Boris."  
"Yes, master?"

"Ready the transport.**  
**

* * *

**New York.**

**The SHIELD Helicarrier. Five hundred feet above Avengers Mansion.**

Fury throws his headset across the room.

"Dammit! Dammit!"

Agent 13 stepped forward. "Nick—"

"Get a carrier out there to retrieve Johnny, I want him back here as soon as possible. Where's Agent Hill?!"

"Anger gets us nowhere." The voice comes from somewhere within the room, and when Fury and Agent 13 look for the source, they can't see it.

Then Fury cocks his head. "Enough. Show yourself."

Susan Storm comes into being, out of her light-refractory invisibility, and alongside her stands Ben Grimm.

Fury cut and lit another cigar. "You couldn't have just landed and come in like the rest of us, could you?"

"This was funnier," Grimm says and winks.

"Fine. While you're having the time of your life, Ben, I've got a homicidal head of state out there and our intel says he's coming here!"

Form the round conference table behind Fury—flanked by Iron Man, Yellowjacket, Captain America and Hawkeye—Reed Richards speaks up.

"It's alright, Nick. They're part of my team, and I asked them here."

Fury whips around and relegates the cigar to one side of his mouth. "We got too many damn hands in this pie, Reed. And what else aren't you telling me?"

Richards stares right back. "If you don't like my being here, then I'll leave. For right now, though, you've got two very large problems. My family and I are the only ones who can deal with both. Namor trusts me, and Victor will listen to me."

"Will he now?"

Fury, Agent 13, Grimm and the Richards' turn at once and pause. Staring at the threshold.

Namor. Standing there, looking utterly triumphant, and holding the munitions bandolier of a standard SHIELD operative.

_Namor_. Susan Storm swallows the little bit of bile at the back of her throat.

Namor tosses the bandolier aside. "You require higher security measures, Colonel."

"You require some manners."

Namor's eyes narrow. "You know what he is planning," the Prince of Atlantis says. "Majora was only the first step."

Ben Grimm—The Thing—steps forward. "Ask you a question, fishy? Why aren't you at home, y'know, doin somethin about it—instead a'bein here and bitchin' ta all of us?"

Namor regards Grimm, and then looks to Reed Richards.

"Your lapdogs leave much to be desired, Dr Richards. Consider in your equations the necessity of that team of criminals you've assembled there behind you." The Prince of Atlantis points to Hawkeye and then to Hank Pym. "Together they have caused as much damage as Victor, and yet you praise them. Why?"

"They've recanted. This is their second chance, Namor."

"And you intend to give one to Victor when this conflict ends?"

"No," Reed answers. "Clemency cannot extend to those without remorse."

Namor smiles thinly. "Quite so."

Fury interjects: "Why are you here?"

Namor regards him with disgust before lifting a foot into the air. An exercise of power for him, to put himself above everyone else in every way possible.

"Victor von Doom has destroyed part of Atlantis. Part of my home. I intend to rectify this situation by any means necessary. If any of you wish to stand with me, do so now, else you shall only be an impediment."

Namor turned in place and hovered toward the door.

"Wait," Susan speaks up. "Where will you go?"

Namor thinks about for a moment, and turns back.

"He has insulted my honor and committed an act of war against a sovereign nation with no substantiation. Consult with your United Nations and see if that breaks international law, Colonel Fury. As for me, I have an army to assemble. Good day."

They all watch him go, and Reed Richards sinks back into his chair, running a wear hand through his hair.

"Well," Clint Barton says and reclines in his chair. "That went well."

Through his vox-scrambler, Iron Man says "shut up, Clint."

"So whaddawe do?" Ben Grimm asks.

Reed Richards thinks through it.

Namor's raising an army to confront Victor, and Victor certainly has the resources to withstand a war of attrition—and it will come to that. Namor will kill every last Latverian if he has to, just to get to the Castle. And Victor will do what he always does. He'll play right along, string everyone right along until the very end when he pulls out a trump card and surprises us. Then, someone will do something stupid. And then matters will worsen.

And then Namor and Victor will be the only ones left.

"We…we have to see him," Reed says quietly.

Fury turned slowly. "What?"

'We failed at stopping Namor. Calling Victor off may be the only choice we have left." Reed stands suddenly and points to Fury. "Nick, get every agent on this carrier ready for deployment. Agent 13, change course—get this thing to Latveria as fast as you can. Steve," Reed says and points to Captain America, "call in every Avenger you can."

Everyone at the conference table looks at Reed, and then at Fury.

"Let's go." Fury watches the group disperse, and stops Reed from leaving. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" he whispers.

Reed raises on eyebrow, emulating Namor, and gives a curt smile. "You and Namor aren't the only leaders around here. Fury smiles back and pats him on the shoulder and leaves. Agent 13 falls in step behind him, keeping brisk pace.

Until its just Reed and Sue left in the conference room.

"So, 'Mr Richards.' You think Victor will go for it?"

Reed looks at her and lights his pipe. "Hard to tell."

"You always say that," she says and leans forward, kissing him on the cheek. "Now give me a straight answer."

He looks at her and lowers the pipe. "Susan, darling—"

"—Reed, dear—"

"You know I love you. I would never hurt you."

She smiles. "And you know I would never back down from a fight. Victor's had this coming for a long time. And I want to be there."

Reed smokes the pipe a moment longer. "Alright," he says evenly_**  
**_

* * *

_**Continued...**_


	5. Ultimatum

**Latveria.**

**Castle Doom.**

The lord was alone in his deepest study; one of many such places throughout the castle, where he could sequester. And meditate. And plan.

He stood among a small orrery, the size of the study itself, between models of Mars and of Earth. Electrified gears, laid beneath flush paneling in the floor, rotated the planet models around the lord. He pressed a single button on one gauntlet. The gears stopped silently. The model of the Earth, as wide as a double threshold, stood before him and he stared into the relief of Southeast Asia.

With a thought, the electric current on his right gauntlet ignited and burned a hand-sized hole from Singapore to Manila—wiping out the cartography of Madripoor and the recently-added Majora.

Another thought; the current died. The lord lifted his hand from the globe.

And heard the oak doors lurch open behind him. Lurch open on purposefully rusted hinges. And lurch back shut.

Under the cold iron mask, the lord allowed himself the curtest of smiles and looked up.

"And so," he said. "You have come."

"You were expecting me?"

The lord turned slowly, silently, and threw the billow of his cape behind him.

"Yes." The lord was surprised at the calm in his own voice. Here stood Namor, Prince of Atlantis, and the lord did not feel the slightest pity. Nor anger. Nor hate.

He felt…vindication. The same vindication he had felt all those years ago at the one definable triumph of his life.

Years ago, the lord had led a successful coup against the ruthless, pitiless autocrat oppressing Latveria from his dais in Haasenstadt. The lord meanwhile was occupied in America, lying to himself that he was doing worthwhile work despite the presence of ne'er-do-well's such as Benjamin Grimm.

Such as Richards.

But the lord had so many new priorities now. So many new opportunities.

He relished the thought of his pending success. And frowned at the realization of having to suffer through Namor's elegiac ramblings.

"I expected an army."

"In time," the Prince said and folded his arms over his chest. "For now I seek an audience. I wish to know why."

The lord looked away, ran one hand over the relief of Europe on the Earth globe, and began pacing around it. "Why do men do anything?" he asked, purposefully vague.

"You wanted to rob me of my victory. You wanted to bring me down to your plebeian level, Victor, but you must know neither of us exists there. We never have. You hated it," Namor said and restrained the coming weakness. "You've hated everything I've ever done. Hated me. Made yourself an enemy of everything I stand for, and anything that ill fits your concept of glory. And of victory."

Victor looked at the relief and imagined the boundaries of Roumania, and of Hungary, and of Latveria. "Victory," the lord said, quietly mocking Namor.

"Thousands of relocated Atlanteans dead," the lord said quietly. His eyes locked on the Carpathian relief. He looked at Namor. "And you seem so calm. Your distance speaks for itself. Surely you can do better than accuse me. You must have an ulterior motive for coming, oher than insulting my honor and questioning morals you know me not to possess."

"My reasons are my own. I seek to know yours."

Under the cold iron mask, the lord sighed. "The only reason one of us hasn't already killed the other is as elementary as your naivete, Namor. You want to know why I destroyed your science experiment, and only then will you dole out judgment." The lord's hand slipped away from the model and he strode toward the model of Neptune. Namor said nothing, tracking him with predator's eyes.

"Silence" the lord was quick to say. "Your greatest strength and your greatest weakness, Namor. It is…unfortunate that we live in such times. There was a time when we were free to do as we wished. When the law daren't touch us, and the only threats we faced were those befitting men of honor. When we moved universes and discovered what no one else could. There was a time when the world was larger, and we sought desperately to hoist it atop our shoulders."

"And…?"

The lord's eyes locked on the moon of Titan. "The world is smaller, now. There is less in it."

Namor's eyes darkened. "Thanks to you."

"Yes," the lord said. "Yes, thanks to me. I saved Atlantis from an imperialism that would have slowly and surely brought you to oblivion. Thanks to me your life has meaning again. And though your countrymen no longer live, they shall not die."

"Spare me the riddles, Victor!" Namor exploded. "You killed thousands just to prove a point! How arrogant of you, Victor, to think you alone may dictate the course of men's lives."

The lord turned quickly and his cape followed in a grand flourish. His eyes burned hatred. "For too long my fate has been out my own hands, my goals out of my reach but for a scant measure. I want control over my life again, Namor. I seek the means to carry on far after my time has come. Have you not ever desired the same?"

One of Namor's eyebrows arched. "And genocide predicates immortality?"

"Hardly," the lord said and pressed one button on his gauntlet, and changed the subject: "My interests are not so provincial. I seek something far grander and more powerful. Something which will ensure the glory of Doom for some time yet."

The lord pressed a panel on his gauntlet and a moment later the planets began to move, coursing along the floor on horizontal orbits and guided by unseen machinery.

"We are similar, Namor. I destroyed Majora to illustrate the point. Lives marred by tragedy, hateful spirits. Lifetimes spent in foolish pursuits…never to be avenged."

"Evil is as evil does, Victor. I have better things to do with my time."

"True," the lord said, and stepped out of Jupiter's way as it revolved past.

"I arrived here expecting to find you triumphant on your dais. And yet here you are, meditating on the ambiguity of the universe. Weak. Defeated."

The lord looked at Namor once with sudden, burning eyes.

"Useless," Namor said finally, and turned away. "Make your excuses, Victor. And know that SHIELD and Dr Richards will not be the only ones watching you. Perhaps one day I will come for you and ask you to pay for your crime. But that will not be today."

The aged oaken doors lurched open on rusted hinges. "This world has no place left for your glory and you know it. In short time, my friend, the world will be well rid of you."

"Namor," the lord said distantly.

The Prince of Atlantis half-turned.

Repulsor rays in the lord's gauntlets powered up.

And blew Namor through three stone-and-iron walls.

The lord gathered up his cape, strode over the rubble and the ruin and stopped at Namor's side, to stare down at the Prince of Atlantis. To behold his eyes, fluttering and soon fading into unconscious bliss.

"Doom is many things. But he is never defeated."

* * *

**The SHIELD Helicarrier.**

**Five miles over Madrid, Spain.**

The first inkling of light in Johnny Storm's world proves he's not dead. The fall hadn't killed him. Someone had saved him. And maybe, just maybe, Namor was nice enough to lay off the face.

No gauze, either. Nice on the face.

And then the light dies. Not an outage. Someone standing over the bed, looking into his eyes. I wonder what here name is. Hair color? Redheads are kinda hot. Memo—ask Peter about it when I get back.

"You done dreamin' yet, Matchstick?"

Sigh. Johnny said, eyes still closed, "It had to be you, didn't it?"

"Yep. Open yer eyes and let's get a move on, huh?"

The eyes open. And you're not staring at MJ. Not even close.

You're staring at Ben.

Sigh again. "Alright, so how bad did I get it? I'm gonna try not to go all Jack Nicholson on you, but is there a mirror around here?"

"Don't worry," Ben says. "Dunno when you passed out—"

"After Namor chokeholded your gnarly little butt, you fell for a couple hundred feet before a SHIELD bug picked y'up and dropped you here. Ol' Stretcho and Suzie sent me to get ya."

"And?"

"Broken leg from the fall, but you wouldn't know it. Reed set it in the plasticast a few hours ago and yer good as new, John-o."

"Thanks, Ben. So what else is new since I've been out of the loop?"

"Diplomacy's failed. Looks like we're gonna have to get through to Doomsie and Namor the hard way." Ben smiles ever so slightly and lights up a cigar.

Raise an eyebrow. "You can't smoke that in a hospital room, you know?"

"Yeah," he says and puffs smoke in your face. "Lucky, then, that we're aboard the Helicarrier chugging away to Latveria."

Roll your eyes, Johnny. "You put my gurney in the smoking room?"

Been points at you and nods slowly.

"Classy, Ben. Real classy."

He hovers over you and lifts you upright. Says, "I do what I can" as you hobble out of the gurney. Clear your throat and scratch your ass, Johnny. Wait a second…

"You put me in the smoking room, on the gurney, in one of those unflattering front-only hospital gowns?"

"It was flattering." Ben shrugs. "SHIELD orderly thought so too."

Raise the eyebrow again. Stroke the chin, too, that's a good one. "Really? I might have to hunt her down. What's her name?"

"Michael."

Your shoulders slump, and Ben starts laughing and slapping his knee. "I hate you, Ben."

* * *

**Austria.**

**Five miles over Salzburg.**

Fury chomped down on the cigar and rolled it to one side of his mouth. He leaned forward in his chair, and as his body cut through the smoke, he spoke to Sharon Carter. Agent 13.

"ETA?"

"Five minutes."

Five minutes. An eternity.

Fury lifts his arm and rubs his lips. And speaks into the mic on his sleeve.

"This is a priority alert. I want every agent with ordnance clearance on the flight deck in the next five minutes. Mission specs are being transmitted to your onboards currently." Every SHIELD agent carried a wrist-mounted computer on their uniform, in conjunction with standard-issue earpiece communicators and utility harness. It was necessary overkill, designed to keep agents on task, on target, and under the watchful eye of Fury himself.

It was a tiring job. One Fury did nonetheless.

He took the long way to the flight deck, as was his want. Arriving late gave the impression of being a busy man—and while he had his fair share of work to do, every now and then it made good sense to show up late, looking authoritative and even a little pissed. Put the fear of God into agents. Made them straighten up and act responsible.

And as the lift surfaced on the flight deck, Fury thought morosely about the coming fight. His agents were going to have to be smart. Or they were going to die.

On the flight deck, Reed Richards was a step ahead of Fury. Despite the pending chaos Captain America's call for every available Avenger had gone unheard. Agent 13 had changed the Helicarrier's course with speed and ease, and three hours after Namor dropped Johnny Storm like a dead body over the North Atlantic, a search team had already retrieved him.

Twenty decks below the vibranium/iron alloy at Reed Richards' feet, Johnny was resting and recuperating from his all too brief run-in with the Prince of Atlantis.

Richards turns around to see assembly before him.

The flight deck of the Helicarrier, covered in SHIELD Agents and superheroes.

Reed stretches his hands behind his back and allows them to slack, rubbery, for a moment before assuming normal size. He cocks his head to one side—Captain America.

"Five minutes," Reed says. "Five minutes and we discourage Victor from finishing the job."

Captain America whispers back: "Five minutes is all we'll need."

Reed nods slowly and his eyebrows turn down, frowning. He can't help the frown. It's the only meager outward display of what's truly running through his head.

_Victor._

_Will you never learn?_

Reed inhales and lets it out slowly.

"I'm coming with you," Captain America says. And Reed nods.

From behind Richards, so very much out of left field, Hawkeye: "Me…uh, three."

Captain America turns slowly, sighing. "Clint—"

"Hey, hey, I need the experience." Hawkeye throws his hands up defensively. "Wait'll ol' Doomsie gets a load of me."

* * *

**Latveria**. 

**Three hundred feet over Doomstadt.**

On the flight deck, Johnny Storm scratched his head. "It's been an hour," he says. "Where is he?"

"No worries," Ben Grimm replied and stared out at the horizon. A half mile away, the highest point in Castle Doom was sharp relief against striated clouds. "It's almost dark out. I say if he doesn't show we go home."

"You know we can't do that," Reed said and kept his eyes locked on Castle Doom. "We should have set off every alarm he has. What's keeping him?"

A sonic boom exploded from the Helicarrier's port side, at once deafening and overwhelming. A contingent of agents standing between fore and aft engine turbines were closest to the boom; all of them shrunk in fear, overwhelmed by the force and the suddenness of it.

At the bow, Reed Richards stretched his head above the agent groups to see the source of the boom.

"No," he says and it's barely a whisper. "It's not possible."

Johnny Storm's eyes widened. "Huh."

Susan Storm's eyes narrowed in a half-frown.

Three hundred soldiers and eight superheroes. And all of them caught unaware.

A hundred yards off the port bow, a Helicarrier—so very much like SHIELD's own, right down to the battleship gray paint—hovered. Legions of Doombots, servo-guards covered the deck in neatly organized ranks and files. At the bow and stern of Doom's carrier stood two Sentinels, larger than any other body and towering over the Doombot and Servo-guard ranks, staring ahead at the SHIELD carrier with dead and certain eyes.

Standing on a steel scaffold three meters above the ranks, stood Victor von Doom. His cape flowed in the wind, obscuring the Doombot ranks immediately around him. Reed scowled. Imagined that Victor is staring right at him. Smiling. Laughing.

Johnny leans forward. "Reed? Where'd he get Sentinels?"

"Watch it, clear a path, huh? Let me through!" SHIELD's ranks parted as Fury pushed his way to the port side to see the sight himself. Reed stretches forward to join him on one side.

"Victor!" Fury yelled across the gulf. "Where the hell did you get that thing?"

"Come now, Colonel Fury, did you honestly believe SHIELD to possess every working Helicarrier in existence? This one I constructed in a weekend, operating on a simple assembly spell from one of Strange's purloined tomes. The boom you just heard was our turbulent jettison from the Negative Zone, where I had been keeping this in hiding for the opportune moment. Your pitiable technology cannot match its enchantments."

Johnny leaned toward Ben Grimm and whispered in his ear. "The day Doom takes pity on me, tell me so I can run for the hills."

Grimm snickered.

At the port bow, Fury pulled his pistol from its holster on his chest and aimed it at Doom's head. "Why don't you put that thing on terra firma and we'll settle our differences like grown men?"

"No," Doom said plainly. "I do not think we shall do that today."

Then, every third rank of Doombots took three steps back as a panel in the deck lifts back. Guns, heavy duty at the very least, slid up from beneath the deck and center on the SHIELD carrier's vital armor.

"Now," Doom said and for a moment, Nick Fury felt the voice in his head. "You will give me the Infinity Formula, or I shall destroy your ridiculous Helicarrier. And all inside."

* * *

**_Continued..._**


	6. The Glory of Doom

**The SHIELD Helicarrier.**

**300 feet above Doomstadt, Latveria. **

Johnny Storm scratched his head and leaned toward Ben. 

"The Infinity Formula?"

"S'what keeps Fury his young and dapper lookin' self."

Johnny shrugged. "And Doom wants it for himself."

Bed tapped his nose once. Johnny rolled his eyes and frowned, dour. "Story of our lives, Ben. Every time things calm down, another nutso crawls out and decides to blow stuff up. I've got places to go, you know. People to see."

"No you don't," Ben said and smiled.

At the port side, two Helicarriers hovered motionless above the expanse of Doomstadt—of Latveria itself. Minutes ago, Doom's Helicarrier—constructed using enchantments he stole from Stephen Strange—blasted its way from the Negative Zone and opened up its guns on SHIELD's own Helicarrier.

Reed did the math quickly, looking from one side of Doom's carrier to the other. Forty guns in all, just on one side. He looked to one side, to Fury, "Action?"

Ben Grimm slapped his forehead.

"He's broadsiding us," he said quietly. To one side Johnny rolled his eyes and said, 'How cliché can one man get?" Ben cupped one hand around his mouth and yelled up: "Reed! Get this thing moving!"

Reed looked back at Doom's carrier and saw the Lord of Latveria was gone. The only things that stood on the deck were rows and rows of Doombots and Servo-Guards, lorded over by two immense Sentinels.

Fury's eyes grew wide at the realization and he yelled into his gauntlet receiver. "Hard to starboard!" Fury looked back at the throngs of agents and superheroes. "Hang on!"

Iron Man lifted into the air on his armored repulsors.

Hank Pym grew to match the size of the Sentinels.

Captain America slung his shield around his shoulders and steadied himself.

Hawkeye pulled an explosive arrow from his quiver and held it taut in the bow.

The SHIELD carrier lurched heavily to starboard, veering away from Doom's carrier.

Standing in a cylindrical command bridge just large enough to fit his armored form, and surrounded by myriad video feeds, the lord's eyes narrowed behid the cold steel mask. His lips bared angry, clenched teeth.

"Fire!" The lord's voice was grim anger. He pivoted on his heels to one side, to a motionless and attentive Servo-Guard. "Let the Helicarrier be Fury's tombstone!"

At that moment, the deck guns on Doom's carrier erupted in a hellish display of firepower. From aft to stern, the guns fired with all the destructive power they had been issued.

Aboard the Helicarrier, Black Widow thrusted her assault rifle forward and gave the fire order, while guns underneath the deck returned Doom's fire. The first three ranks of Doombots flying across to the Helicarrier were mowed down by the combined firepower of three hundred SHIELD agents. But even the Black Widow at the head of the defense isn't enough.

Hawkeye let loose his arrow and kept up the firing, taking out isolated groups of attacking bots.

Captain America loosed his shield and threw it forward into the Doombot ranks. The edge decapitated a squad leader and caught three others through the waist before reversing course in a wide arc and returning to Cap's hand.

Iron Man powered on his chest repulsor and aimed indiscriminately at the horde, firing output at 90 percent.

Yellowjacket took to wrestling one of the Sentinels and in the process tumbled off the Helicarrier. The resulting redistribution of weight rocked the carrier and threw the legions of landed agents and Doombots across the deck, from port to starboard.

The Doombots kept coming.

* * *

Reed Richards stretched above the melee to get his bearings. He saw Black Widow kicking her way out of a pile of lifeless Doombots. She bore an assault rifle in one hand, and blood trickled down one side of her face. But she kept firing. The Doombots kept coming. 

"Reed!"

Reed turns around at the sound of Fury's voice, and saw the Director of SHIELD holding his own. A squad of six Doombots had gathered around him like wild animals preying on a weakened victim. They advanced slowly, uncharacteristically, as Fry drew his pistol from its breast-holster. He surprised the 'bots, turning quickly and taking down three of them before hands stretched around the other three—hands as large as Fury's own body—and crushed them. Fury looked up at Reed.

"Get me to the bridge!"

Aboard his own carrier, the lord of Latveria found his way to the deck and watched in abject distance as his legions poured over the SHIELD carrier. He looked over the edge, down at Latveria's beautiful natural topography, and saw the hero Yellowjacket fighting a Sentinel with the delicacy and capability of an inebriated boxer. Pym, as Doom knew him, had the Sentinel in a headlock and was slowly working the contraption to its knees.

The lord looked back to the SHIELD carrier. Its undercarriage, just beneath the flight deck, was severely damaged. Smoke and flames billowed from the wounds in the armor plating. The lord pressed a button on his gauntlet, and the barrage from his carrier subsided. He raised one arm and pointed forward.

The Doombots kept going.

* * *

At the port bow, Iron Man flew circles around a squad of Doombots chasing him. He turned over in midair and delivered two blasts from repulsors armored over his human hands. He took the liberty of watching all six charred bodies fall to the deck. 

Ben Grimm and Hawkeye had taken to fighting together and in the course of mere minutes found themselves back to back fighting off the host of Latveria.

"Don't these things ever die?!" Hawkeye yelled and wiped sweat from his chin. He positioned another arrow and fired it into an oncoming group of Doombots who had—cleverly, he had to admit—organized themselves into a flying V. Ben Grimm meanwhile, fought the automatons the hard way.

Hand to hand.

He punched one in what would have been a human stomach and it bowed to its knees. Grimm picked it up by the shoulder and jammed his knee in its chest, destroying the circuitry. Another came up from behind, and Grimm ducked before it could strike. He slid around the Doombot's back and punched a hole through its chest again, and aimed its right arm at oncoming horde. And as the repulsor ray in the Doombot's arm atomized its brethren, Ben Grimm smiled.

* * *

The Human Torch had grabbed Captain America and taken to the skies. 

"Johnny, drop me!"

"Are you nuts?!"

"Just do it!" Cap said and rocked himself free. He fell away from Johnny in a series of backflips and landed on the shoulder blade of the remaining Sentinel—itself crouched on the deck of the SHIELD carrier wiping away agents and Doombots alike like nuisances. Cap pulled his shield from around his shoulders and jammed the edge into the base of the Sentinel's skull. And kept it up for three minutes, grabbing for purchase as the Sentinel tried and failed to pull the Avenger from its back.

The opening allowed Iron Man to swoop in on a low curve and get close to the Sentinel and the bright spot on its chest that gave away the location of the internal dynamo that powered it. Iron Man hovered close to the Sentinel's chest and powered the full-body repulsor ray to capacity.

"Steve," Iron Man said calmly into his communicator. "You might want to get off the Sentinel. And cover your eyes. This might be bright."

"Gone," Cap said. He dove off fearlessly and grabbed the leg of a passing Doombot. The Doombot's trajectory was ruined by Cap's added weight, and he used that to his advantage, flipping the robot over and crouching on its back. The crouch gave him leverage to launch himself off into another horde. The wayward Doombot careened into the Sentinel's faceplate, and the larger automaton stumbled backward off the deck.

* * *

On the deck, Reed Richards didn't have the time to hack into whatever database Victor was running his legions from. Time was of the essence, and Reed resigned himself to using his powers to fight. One of his hands formed into a hammer as big as Ben Grimm, while he merely stretched his other hand to twelve times its original proportion. The oversized nature of his appendages allowed him to crush, maim, sweep aside and decommission large quantities of Doombots and Servo-Guards. His expression was neither joyful nor exhausted. This was merely work to him, Mister Fantastic, work to be done so that he could get to Victor himself. 

_He's all that matters. All that's ever mattered._

He wrapped up a Servo-Guard in his stretched hand and tossed it carefully over to Doom's carrier. He stretched his neck to see the Servo-Guard's body land awkwardly slightly less than a foot from Victor's body.

Reed frowned at the sight of a strictly observant Victor, and shrunk slightly when he saw Victor's eyes locked on his. _What's he waiting for?_

He looked away and saw his wife, Susan, three meters away. He saw her jam one elbow in a Doombot's face and gesture toward an oncoming one. She was throwing invisible daggers through the robot's head circuitry. She flipped the elbow-bot over one shoulder and brought both her hands up to eye level. A squad of Doombots a meter away from her lifted off the ground, unknowingly caught in one of her forcefields, as she watched and willed the forcefield toward the sky. A moment later she withdrew it and watched the bodies fall to the deck.

Reed stretched to her side. She created an invisible bubble around herself and her husband. On the outside, a group of Doombots had taken to pounding on it, while another group used their repulsors to blast it away—both to no avail. Reed and Sue paid them no mind, and watched a squad of SHIELD agents mow them down with automatics.

"Nice job."

Susan looked at him and straightened her hair and smiled. "I know. And you were worried about me holding my own."

"I'll make it up to you tonight, Miss Storm," Reed said and winked.

Beneath the Richards', the deck rumbled and lurched to one side. Reed tapped his ear, opening a line to the bridge, and spoke with sudden gravity. "Nick, what's going on?"

"We're losing her," Fury yelled back in a harsh bass. "Got to get her over water or something. I don't want this thing rolling into the middle of Doomstadt or Bucharest."

"Understood."

"How—arghh—how's the Doombot population?"

Reed looked around quickly. Near the port bow, Black Widow and Agent 13 were still hammering away on a Servo-Guard, exhausting ammunition on the oversized automaton that didn't know which way it wanted to fall.

Up in the sky, Captain America was still playing acrobat, flipping around from Doombot to Doombot. The Human Torch made a wide arc of flame a hundred meters above the Helicarrier, then shot down in the center of it, vaporizing a group of Doombots. And yet, Doom's carrier seemed to be littered with the things. They came to the Helicarrier in a wide arc on the sky and for a moment almost blocked out the sun.

"It's starting to come apart, Nick. We might have to make a run for it soon."

The Doombots kept coming. And Victor…

_Oh no._

"Nick, I have a problem."

"Such as?"

"Victor's gone. He was on the deck and now he's not. Can you track him?"

Reed looked at the sky just in time to see a Servo-Guard angle one arm toward the Admiral's Bridge. A second later a thin missile exploded from its wrist, streaming toward the bridge, on a straight and true and deadly path. He yelled into the communicator.

"Nick? Nick!?"

Reed's concentration as interrupted by another errant Servo-Guard crashing into Susan's barrier. The force broke her concentration and the bubble collapsed. Above the Richards' the missile slammed into the bridge and threw out a plume of smoke and fire and a deafening sound behind it.

Sue rejoined the fight, leaping into a horde of Doombots and trying to relieve a beleagured trio of SHIELD agents. Reed stretched after her and yelled into the communicator.

"Johnny? Ben? Anybody?! Answer me!"

* * *

On the Admiral's Bridge, Nick Fury slowly got to one knee. His head hurt, and he felt something warm at his hairline. Blood, he thought and sighed. He stood weakly and said, "damage…report?"

When his vision cleared, he looked around the bridge. Smoke obscured his view, but he knew well enough that he could still see. So there was that. As he surveyed the bridge, he saw a hole blown in the bow wall. Every body that was with him on the bridge was either buried under the rubble of the exploded equipment or incinerated or—

"Colonel Fury."

Fury turned slowly and leaned against the charred wall. His leg ached, and he knew instinctively to keep off it. He wiped sweat and dirt from his brow and stared ahead at the monolithic body in the ruined threshold.

Doom.

"Doom," Fury said and felt the blood bubble in his throat. "I'll have your head for this."

"This is your last chance, Colonel. Give me the formula, or I shall take it by force."

The ruined hole in the Admiral's Bridge glowed bright for a moment as the Human Torch alighted in the empty space between Fury and Doom and flamed off. He looked at Doom once and then stopped between the two men.

Fury watched Doom's eyes narrow at the sight of the Human Torch.

"Jonathan," Doom said with malice. "You'll see no mercy from me."

"You're embarrassing yourself," Johnny said with strength that surprised himself. "Take your little armada and go home."

Under the cold steel mask, Doom smiled. "Your strength is admirable and foolish. But nothing is over until Doom commands it."

Fury coughed a spat of blood and leaned against the wall.

Johnny flamed on. Slowly.

"You can still walk away," he said.

Under the faceplate, Doom's smile turned to a frown. His eyes burned hatred. "I am Victor von Doom. I have usurped the power of Galactus, I have travelled beyond the crossroads of infinity." Doom threw one side of his cape back and rested one arm akimbo. He was unimpressed with Johnny Storm. Even after all these years.

After a measured silence, the lord of Latveria spoke once more, and Johnny felt the derision in the lord's voice. Johnny Storm clenched his fists and inhaled deeply.

"I cannot be defeated by a mere boy."

Johnny's muscles tightened and his eyes burned white. Doom's gauntlets crackled to life and glowed blue-white with electricity.

It happened in slow motion for Johnny Storm. Launching himself at the great and feared Doctor Doom. And as Doom brought his fists up in defense, Johnny entertained the idea that he might actually win. He smiled.

He could live with that.

* * *

**_Continued..._**


	7. A Little Busy

_Author's Note_: Reed's use of his 4-logo as a computer comes from a discarded idea Mark Waid used in the 2003 story "Unthinkable." Tony Stark's proficiency in firewalling nods to the 2006 _Iron Man_ story "Execute Program."

* * *

**Latveria.**

**The SHIELD Helicarrier. Admiral's Bridge.**

It happened in slow motion for Johnny Storm. Launching himself at the great and powerful Doctor Victor von Doom. Who, Johnny refrained in a millisecond thought process, wasn't really a doctor at all. Maybe self-proclaimed, but do they give licenses to self-proclaimed drivers? No, he reminded himself, and reminded himself that Victor von Doom…

Well he just wasn't a very pleasant man. Johnny smiled for an instant when he reasoned that, like Captain Hook, Doom needed a mother. Very, very badly.

He overlooked the irony of it.

And then, a foot away, Doom steadied himself and brought a fist back, and struck true when Johnny was close enough.

The armored gauntlet was lucky not to strike so hard as to drive bone fragments through to Johnny's brain. Even so, the impact of Doom's electrified and armored gauntlet broke Johnny's nose and sent him to his knees.

Doom laid one hand on Johnny's forehead and electrified him into unconsciousness. The body fell limp at Doom's feet, and the Lord of Latveria stepped over it gingerly to approach Colonel Fury.

"If you will not give the formula to me," Doom said. "I shall take it by force."

Fury looked at Doom through weary and nonresponsive eyes. He was a wreck, and he estimated his arm to be broken. And his leg felt broken, too. Cold. Painful to put pressure on. Fury scowled as he put the pieces together.

_Doom destroys Majora. Doom builds Helicarrier. Doom destroys SHIELD with his legions—taking out the core Avengers and the Fantastic Four by mere serendipity. Then he's free to harvest my body for the Infinity Formula and put Reed Richards' head on a pike outside his castle._

_He's thought this out_, Fury thought. And as Doom's electrified fist came down to knock Fury unconscious like Johnny, Fury saw something at the corner of his eye.

And smiled.

Doom stopped.

"What?" he asked. His voice was metallic anger. "Do I amuse you?"

"No," Fury said and felt blood rising in his throat. He spat it out, and it splattered the green cloth covering Doom's armor. "Just looking at my friend back there."

Doom turned in a flash, pivoting on his heels and feeling the wind grab his cape and pull it out in a well-timed flourish. The Lord of Latveria saw the body Fury referred to. And behind the cold steel mask, Victor von Doom's lips curled into a hateful scowl. His eyes burned hatred.

Namor.

Standing motionless in the ruined threshold.

"Namor?" Doom said with uncharacteristic surprise. "Self-loathing should have killed you by now."

His face was pale, drawn out by twin eyes set dark and deep in the mutant physiology. His hair, tousled and just plain messy. His lips were thin and motionless. And the Lord of Latveria half-smiled when he perceived the mutant fists shaking.

"You used me," Namor said and took a step forward. "You took my life."

"You delusional cretin," Doom said. "It's what I do."

"No," Namor said. "I think the only thing you'll be doing now, Victor, is fighting."

"Think again." Doom lifted one arm, preparing a repulsor blast. In an eyeblink Namor lifted off the ground and propelled himself at Doom.

* * *

The sound of a sonic boom paralysed the battle on the flight-deck. For a moment in time, Reed Richards went deaf and observed the battle. How awe-inspiring, for all its destruction. In the distance, Captain America threw a dying Doombot into the path of another; whirled around and threw his shield at an oncoming squad, bisecting the lot of them through the waist; caught the returning shield, kicked another in the gut, and flipped over it; then disappeared into one of the heavier groups. Hawkeye and Ben Grimm fought back to back against a wide circle of Doombots; Hawkeye catching three in a net-arrow while Ben punched another and sent the head flying the opposite direction.

Next to Reed, Susan Storm encased herself in a forcefield and began pushing out. The errant Doombots fell off the deck, a hundred meters to the streets of Doomstadt. Sue destroyed more with well-placed daggers, visible only in the right light, to the chest dynamos and head CPUs.

Reed smiled, and looked up to the Admiral's Bridge.

* * *

Above the Bridge, Namor and Doom had taken to the roof and the nearby conning tower. The antennae still turned in their fixed circles while the King of Atlantis and the Lord of Latveria traded blows like expert pugilists.

But…there was an art to it. Two duelists locked atop the SHIELD Helicarrier fighting for their own lives. Two duelists, using their wits and their strength to destroy the other.

At first the fight takes the form of straight fisticuffs. Doom threw hook after hook and Namor avoided them expertly. And he never took to flight. He fought Doom on his terms.

Doom's gauntlets crackled with blue-white electricity and after five minutes of flying fists, he resorted to playing dirty. He pointed away haphazardly and Namor fell for it. And Doom slid one leg between Namor's, sending the King of the Seas to his knees. Doom laid a single electrified hand on Namor's forehead. The mutant eyes looked up at Doom as the electricity crackled and sizzled flesh. Namor swore he saw…pity in Doom's eyes.

He frowned. And punched Doom in the gut. The blow did less than he thought it would. Doom watched it happen, and then jammed a knee in Namor's chin callously.

"Get up," Doom said. "I shall not lose my victory to exhaustion."

Namor stood. Lifted off the ground.

Doom cocked his head. Rocket boosters at his shoulder blades fired to life and he matched Namor's hover.

Namor propelled himself into the sky. Doom followed and powered his repulsors to full capacity.

* * *

On the flight deck, Susan Storm extended her forcefield to her husband. At the field's exterior, Doombots still pounded their way in. Susan formed a sharp extension from one side and willed it through the robot's skull.

At her side, Reed Richards had pulled off the circular '4' insignia on his chest, overturned it and was now tapping keys on the micro-keyboard furiously, mumbling equations as he went.

"Sue. I need room to work. Can you keep them off me?"

She smiled and lowered the field and took to fighting the Doombots manually. Flipping attacking squads over each other, impaling others on imperceptible daggers—while simple gestures sent others flying away while Sue ripped out their chest dynamos and tossed one toward another horde as an impromptu grenade.

Behind her, Reed still computed on his chest insignia.

"Any idea what you're doing?"

"Using one of my finer brainstorms to hack into whatever central server Victor's got the Doombots on. If I can get in, I can shut it down." He tapped his ear once. "Tony, this is Reed, I need you"—he looked around, noting the only landmark—"at the flaming F-16."

Iron Man's voice came over the frequency, hurried and perhaps even a little angry: "I'm a little busy!"

"You were always better at firewalling than me. I need an out to a dedicated line."

"What about the Crays in your lab? Route your overwrite signal through one of them—through a base—and you'll shut the Doombots down. That'll be a momentary window."

Reed looked up for a moment, and then back at his small computer—"Oh"—and started typing.

* * *

In the skies above the Helicarrier, Doom and Namor fought circles around each other, striking blows and missing others. Namor avoided Doom's wrath expertly as an acrobat, flipping in midair and kicking Doom across the kidneys only to retreat to a higher altitude.

The kick was enough to knock off Doom's center of balance and he hunched for a moment in mid-air. He turned slowly and rocketed up to Namor's own height. Doom caught one of Namor's blows and flipped him over his back. Namor let it happen and took the chance to get further away. He righted himself and tucked one leg close and flew back towards the Lord of Latveria. Doom watched Namor approach and took his time lining up a shot and fired. Namor missed it barely, as the repulsor beam singed the shoulder off his bolero. He stopped to inspect the damage and when he looked up, Doom stared him in the face—hovering not a meter from his face.

"Fool," Doom said simply, and locked his electrified hands around Namor's throat. And as Namor had done to Johnny Storm over the Azores, so Doom did to Namor. Strangling him into blissful nothingness of asphyxiation.

Behind the cold steel mask, Doom clenched his jaw and scowled. And felt the lips twitch as he applied more pressure.

* * *

Nick Fury had finally come to. He gathered Johnny Storm around one shoulder and made for the mangled hole at the head of the Bridge. And as he lowered himself, with Johnny's limp body on his back, from the blown-out edge of the Admiral's Bridge to the chaotic deck, he pressed on hand against his temple. _Take the pain. Master it, Fury. Be better than this._

He grabbed his broken arm, feeling its cold stinging as he landed. He sighted Sue Storm—acrobatically evading Doombots and Servo-Guards and forcing others away from her—across the deck, near a flaming shell of an F-16, and moved as quickly as a broken leg would allow. He pulled his pistol from its breast-holster and shot through a Doombot a foot ahead. And kept moving.

* * *

Reed Richards' eyes grew wide as he realized he finally got into the Doombot server. He looked up and took a knee, flipping a Doombot over one shoulder. Kept typing. The Doombots command prompts were hidden somewhere in three million lines of code. Perhaps the whole three million were one command, but more likely contained subcommands. If Reed could shut off only one of those it would lessen the onslaught.

He shook his head at the enormity of it all. Victor's forte was always the art of science—the mysticism to it all. For every Doombot that thought itself the real Doom, there was always something mystical and unknown about Victor's science. Like it wasn't quite science. It was his statement to the world.

* * *

Doom waited until Namor was fully unconscious, and then removed his hand from around the King's neck. The Lord of Latveria inspected his gauntlets and powered off the electricity. Then he looked back at Namor, at the bubbled and blackened flesh at the neck.

Doom loosened his grip, and let the body fall. He watched Namor's unconscious form tumble and yaw as the wind currents turned him facedown and spread his limbs lazily.

Doom righted himself and gathered his strength and started lowering to the deck. He wanted to see this.

* * *

**_Continued..._**  



	8. Tales of Suspense

**Latveria. **

**Mister Fantastic and the Invisible Woman. **

Namor landed a meter from the port bow of the SHIELD Helicarrier.

Near the Admiral's Bridge, Reed Richards' attempts at bypassing the Doombot server's firewalls were failing. Over his shoulder, Susan Storm wore an exhausted expression. Her face was sweaty and grimy; streaks of oil and soot criss-crossed the nose and the high cheekbones and her blonde hair hung messy about her shoulders. She wiped a wisp of it away.

"Any luck?"

"Wait," Reed said through a frown. "I think I got it."

The HUD on Reed's minicomputer flashed green for a moment and gave a digitized thumbs-up status signal. The thumbs-up was one of Johnny's more enterprising efforts to include himself in laboratory science. Reed had gone along with it.

In spite of the status signal, the Doombots kept coming. Reed rolled his eyes.

He didn't have it.

"Reed," Sue said and smiled. "You just had a very Han Solo moment, didn't you?" Reed's jaw slacked and he let out a thin chuckle. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said and gave her a peck on the cheek. "Rendezvous with Cap and the others. I need to find Iron Man."

"Sweetie, just call him on your earpiece!" Sue called out to her husband, already stretching away.

* * *

**The Black Widow and Agent 13. **

Across the Flight Deck, the battle went on. Midship, surrounded by two F-16s that were, like everything else on the flight deck not bolted down, reduced to smoking piles, the Black Widow and Sharon Carter—Agent 13—fought their way through two lines of oncoming Doombots.

The rifle was a Kalashnikov holdover Fury had let her keep from her days in Mother Russia. Natasha Romanova loved it. Loved the feeling of power it gave her. Not that she had anything to revenge or any vendetta to execute; that was not the purpose of having a weapon. Comrade Karpov and Natasha's mentors in Department X had taught her well enough. A weapon is life. Yours. In the palm of your hand. Use it accordingly. Crimes of passion are not tolerated, Natasha reminded herself. She angled her head to one side slowly and heard the tendons loosen and crack. She fired once more—only once—and finally put down a particularly vicious Servo-guard. Natasha lowered the gun and let out a quick expiration in amusement.

She turned around to Agent 13.

Agent 13 had taken to using twin pistols—1911 Colts-and firing alternately at the oncoming squads. The pistols were from her own collection; SHIELD issue was more akin to a 9mm. She liked the Colt's intimate feel, and the history, and smiled when each pistol kicked back in her hand. She gripped tighter and kept firing. The final Doombot went down with a shot between the eyes, and Agent 13 watched it fall almost in slow motion. Right between the eyes. How…merciful.

"Don't you love it, Sharon?"

"Sentiment?" Agent 13 asked and holstered one pistol. "From you?"

"I rarely get out," Natasha replied. "This was a useful way to spend an afternoon."

Agent 13 frowned. On the verge of saying something, her ear buzzed with the signal of an opening line. She held one hand cupped close and said, "What?"

"Next time, answer 'Yes, Sir.'" It was Fury.

"Sir," Agent 13 corrected quietly. "What is it?"

"Wherever you are, I need you at the port bow. Reed and Tony have found a way to shut the Doombots down, or so they think."

Agent 13 looked at Natasha. She was rolling her eyes, and as she turned away from Agent 13, brought her rifle up and shot the head cleanly off an oncoming Doombot. She turned back and leaned close to Agent 13, getting in earshot of the line.

"Colonel Fury, this is the Black Widow," he said heavily. "The Doombots are coming over more sporadically now. I think it may be over."

Before Fury replied, the flight deck began to lurch to one side. Metal creaked, compromised with a changing weight tolerance, and gave a low and sonorous creak. Natasha's eyes narrowed and she looked—slowly, dreadfully at Doom's carrier.

When Natasha saw another legion of Doombots issue from below-deck, she gritted her teeth.

"Govno."

* * *

**Doctor Doom. **

Doom's eyes grew wide when he finally sighted Namor's broken and shapeless form lying on the flight deck. Amidst the violence and the battles going on, Doom shut out reality and focused on the task at hand.

He landed with a thunderous impact and crouched to absorb the shock. He stood quickly and allowed a breeze to sweep his cape away from his shoulders. As he stepped off a SHIELD agent stumbled in front of him, locked in poorly executed fisticuffs with a Doombot. Under the cold steel mask, Doom frowned and pushed both aside with a single powerful thrust.

The rocket boosters at his shoulders had spent their power in the aerial fight with Namor. He walked heavily, and felt the weight of the armor with every step. He felt exhausted, and breathed heavily. He felt the heat under the mask. And accepted it. Part of laboratory science—and that was exactly what this was.

An experiment with human life itself under the microscope.

With Doom behind the lens.

A SHIELD agent with brown hair and a faint goatee—his one remarking characteristic—stepped in the path, fighting a Doombot for control of a sidearm. Doom would have ordinarily found it humorous. But as he lurched across the listing flight deck, the Lord of Latveria heard his own labored breathing behind the steel faceplate. He throttled the agent and took the time to crush the young man's windpipe before tossing him aside.

He kept walking. And reached for the leather holster at his waist.

* * *

**Mister Fantastic and Iron Man. **

He had found Iron Man near the aft portside rotor. The blades meant to suspend and propel the Helicarrier had long since stopped working; taken over instead by billowing black smoke and flames curling into the darkening skies.

Reed looked at the rotor—a large affair, one of four identical rotors as large as the Admiral's Bridge and control island, meant specifically to keep the Helicarrier level in the air. Smoke billowed from a dark and asymmetrical hole in the plating under the propellers. _Probably courtesy of an errant Doombot blowing it to hell._ With one rotor gone, the Helicarrier now began to list dangerously to port. Mere meters away Doom's own carrier hovered perfectly in the air, motionless and level—contrasted with the smoking and ruined shell of the SHIELD carrier.

"His armies made fast work of us," Reed said, and felt a degree of hollowness in his voice. Like he couldn't quite believe it.

"Yes." Iron Man's reply was equally cold. Perhaps even uninterested. "But we can still do this, Reed. Give me your mini-PC."

Reed handed him the disc. "What are you doing?"

"Triangulating Doom's servers from three spots: the Mansion, one of my T-com satellites which should be coming in range in a minute or two, and my armor itself."

"The firewall can't defend three attacks," Reed said and felt as if a lightbulb had come on. "You're outnumbering the coding."

"Call it jumping over the fence."

* * *

**Namor and the Invisible Woman. **

Susan Storm had taken herself away from the onslaught of Doombots when she saw a dark and limp body falling from the clouds. She recognized him instantly. As she forced a squad of Doombots away from her and crossed the flight deck on an unseen walkway, she tried to rationalize why that was.

_Because…you love him._

_Yes, but you married Reed. Namor's nothing more—nothing better—than a schoolyard crush. One that just happens to give you and your family a hard time of it every month or so._

_You married Reed. You married one of the good guys._

_And no matter what Namor says. Or does. Or wears. He's not one of your good guys._

_Try to remember that, Sue._

* * *

**Hawkeye and The Thing. **

This was getting out of hand.

They had cleaned up their area; the Doombots had stopped paying attention to them. Instead, three squads of Doombots formed a circular perimeter around Susan Storm and stared outward. Like they were defending her.

As he smashed the heads of two Doombots into each other, Ben Grimm looked toward the perimeter. Sue was…kneeling next to someone.

An idea popped into Ben's head. Namor?

_Nahhh_.

"Hey, Rocky!" Hawkeye's voice brought Ben back to reality. He turned around to see a lone arm—clad in purple—reaching desperately into the air from a pile of Doombots.

Ben shrugged and started pulling them off, slapping their heads and shortcircuiting them in the process, until he finally got to the last one. To amuse himself, he held out his pinky and plucked the Doombot from Hawkeye's chest daintily. Tossed it over his shoulder carelessly, and offered Hawkeye a hand.

"They went all Namath on me," Hawkeye said and coughed as he stood.

"Namath wuz a quarterback, ya putz."

Under the purple mask, Clint Barton raised one eyebrow. "Oh."

"Yeah," Ben said.

"Well, you get my point."

"Sure," Ben said and tried to sound patronizing. He patted Hawkeye on the back. "You're all right, Barney."

Hawkeye smiled thinly. "A children's dinosaur. Classy."

Ben winked. "Had my pinky out and everything."

* * *

**The Invisible Woman and Mister Fantastic. **

Behind the Doombot perimeter, Susan Storm was lost in thought. She didn't even see the Doombots surrounding her.

She knelt next to Namor's prone form: bloody and beaten and barely conscious. She ran one hand up the side of his face and smoothed his against his scalp. When she brought her hand back, she rubbed her thumb against her forefingers, as if to test the viscosity of the blood leaking from Namor's forehead. Very soon, he would black out.

She tapped her ear.

"Reed."

"Yes?"

"I don't know where you are, but I need you here. Namor just…oh God he just fell out of the sky. He's bleeding a lot. I think his legs are broken. I think…I think Victor did this to him."

"Where are you?"

Susan wiped a strand of hair from her face and took a tear with it, and looked around. She finally noticed the Doombots circling her.

"Oh God," she said and it was almost a whisper.

"Sue, I see a circle of Doombots ahead. Please tell me that's you."

"Yes," she stammered. "Th-they're not doing anything. They're just…standing here."

"Don't go anywhere, I'm on my way." Reed's voice was hurried. Worried even.

Sue's posture slumped and she let out an exasperated sigh. _Why does it take an international incident for him to pay attention? Why does someone else have to be on the line for him to worry?_

* * *

**Nick Fury and the Human Torch. **

He still carried Johnny Storm on one shoulder. But the good news was, he was at least functionally conscious. And he could use both his legs. So it was more a case of Johnny carrying Fury. No that Fury wanted to admit that. Johnny would never let the story die—how he saved the great Colonel Fury from Dr Doom in single combat.

Fury chortled and lighted a cigar.

At his side, Johnny Storm coughed and made it sound extra deathly. "Ever tell you how much I hate those things?"

Fury spat blood and wiped his mouth with the back of his glove. "Settle in, kiddo. You're gonna tell me beatin' the snot out of Annihilus is better than some cigar smoke in your face?"

"True enough, I—"

Fury looked at Johnny, quizzical. "What?"

Johnny had stopped walking. His eyes were locked dead ahead. Fury tried to find whatever it was he was looking at.

* * *

**Victor von Doom and Susan Storm. **

The Doombot circle opened just enough to let a body through. The body of their master.

He strode confidently and his leg still bothered him greatly. But in spite of that, Victor von Doom gathered up the excess length of his cape and tossed it over his left arm, kept motionless at his waist. He steadied his right hand on the leather holster on his right hip.

Behind the iron faceplate, his eyes narrowed. Scarred flesh around his eyes felt the breeze rolling across the deck and enhancements in the armor allowed him to smell a spring breeze coupled with burning metal and the pungent stench of oil.

It was redolent and it put the Lord of Latveria in mind of another time. When the world was simpler, and his days were spent in the idle joyfulness of youth…frolicking in one of Latveria's many rivers with the love of his life.

He stopped a foot behind Susan Storm's perfectly oblivious head. Armored fingers curled slowly around the pistol grip.

He thought of Valeria. What she meant for his existence, no matter that they hadn't spoken in…decades.

And he thought of Susan. A remarkable woman in her right. Powerful—perhaps more so than any other on that ill-fated foursome. She was their shepherd, their custodian, their mother hen. She existed to ensure they continued living. Without Susan Storm…the Fantastic Four would fall apart. Without Susan Storm…Richards would have long ago collapsed in on himself. _Without her_, Doom thought, _Reed Richards is not a man._

In the bowels of his mind, Doom reveled at this realization.

He pulled the pistol slowly from its holster.

She knelt there, doing nothing. Fawning over the unconscious waste of space Namor had become.

Doom lowered the pistol and willed his beating heart still.

"Victor!"

He turned in place, pivoting on his heels, and kept the pistol leveled at Susan's occipital. Under the iron faceplate, his jaw tightened and his lips opened bearing clenched teeth. His eyes burned as he saw the bodies coming over the Doombot perimeter.

Fury.

Henry Pym in that ridiculous Yellowjacket suit, assuming the size normal men do.

Jonathan. With Benjamin Grimm and the Avenger Hawkeye behind him.

Captain America somersaulted over a motionless Servo-Guard and stood at Grimm's side.

Doom smiled perversely at the sight of Anthony Stark in his Iron Man armor.

Fury had assembled the world's greatest heroes to confront the power of Doom. Somehow—the Lord of Latveria wasted no time on surprise—they had come out of his frontal assault relatively unscathed. Fury looked like a third-degree burn victim; his broken leg gave him reason to lean on Grimm for support. Pym had faced down two of Lensherr's Sentinels and lived to tell the tale. Doom expected the Super-Soldier and the archer, along with Jonathan and Grimm, to survive. That was their prime motive in life.

Yes. The world's greatest heroes had arrived and survived Doom's onslaught. And there they stood, facing the Lord of Latveria. Ready to meet their destiny. All of them.

Leaving only—

"Richards…"

* * *

**_Continued..._**  



	9. The Final Calculus

**Doctor Doom and the Fantastic Four.**

The Lord of Latveria kept the pistol pressed to the base of Susan's skull. The human hand inside the gauntlet so wanted to squeeze the trigger. _End Susan's life and set Richards on the path to his own demise_. It was a plan the Lord of Latveria had long desired. He felt slightly depressed at having just acted on it.

A meter away, Reed Richards looked the sallow companion of death itself. His face had lost its characteristic warmth. His eyes were wide and fearful, his hair disorderly and bloody from the skirmishes with the Doombot legions.

Doom's eyes narrowed.

_For once in his pitiful life, Reed Richards simply didn't have an answer._

"Richards," Doom said. "Always Richards."

"Victor, for God's sake." Richards' voice was a whisper. No, a whimper. The cowardly overtures of a man far outmaneuvered. "Let her go. Please."

"Your cowardice surprises even me, Richards. Every time I have threatened your family in days prior you have merely expressed false bravado. What makes this day so different, I wonder? Could it be that someone is finally paying attention to your poor wife? Could it be that all the times I have threatened her before…her death did not seem as prescient as it does now?"

A tear formed at the edge of Richards' eye. "Please…"

Colonel Fury stepped forth, hobbling and leaning on Grimm. He pointed one gloved finger, covered in dirt and soot and blood, at Doom. "You let her go and you do it fast, Victor. There are still a hundred agents here with guns and five very angry heroes just waiting to blow a hole in your chest."

Doom smiled thinly under the mask and hoisted Susan to her feet. He grabbed her arms and bound them at her lumbar, squeezing tightly, and pressed the pistol against her left temple. "No," he said plainly. "Such an act would be most illegal, Colonel. Not to mention illogical."

Johnny Storm flamed on. His eyes glowed white hot. "I'll burn every deformed bone out of that armor before you can even open your God-damned mouth, Doom." With every sentence, the boy's anger grew harsher. The profanity surprised even himself. "Let my sister go and you can go on living. Or I'll go nova right here and take everyone out with me."

"Johnathan," Doom said. "You hardly inspire fear. For the very reason poor Susan here isn't budging and foolish Richards has not used his powers to stretch me into the next time zone."

Fury raised an eyebrow. Grimm looked from Susan to Reed.

"Love," Doom said, with a hint of derision. "A dreadful bond."

Johnny flamed off. His brow furrowed and his shoulders slumped.

"Love," the King of Latveria continued, "is what keeps Richards from killing me this instant. And I am quite certain he has entertained the idea of wrapping his malleable claws around my throat and squeezing. But he cannot." Doom looked at Reed. "Not while Susan is my prisoner once more."

Reed had lowered his head, staring morosely at blast marks striated across the Flight Deck's grey armor plating.

Captain America stood at his right side. "Come on, Reed."

"He is thinking through scenarios, Rogers," Doom interjected harshly. Hatefully. "Doing as he always does: trying to out-think his opponent. Thought has always been his greatest weapon, and his greatest downfall. The same intellectual wonderment that occupies Richards' time also cripples him."

"That's not true," Reed murmured.

"But it is. You sabotaged my experiments and gave me this…hideous deformity…out of jealousy. You consistently put your family and your children in harm's way because of misguided notions of discovery." Doom's armored hand slid up and wound its way tightly around Susan's throat. "All of which has led to this. A rivalry twenty-five years in the making. The mindless pursuit of dying dreams and false hope that someday one of us would win, resigning the other to historical flotsam."

It was Fury who said what the heroes were thinking: "You can blow this up your ass, Doom. You killed millions of people. You threatened my life. You threatened Sue's life just so you could gloat over Reed Richards?"

Fury's eyes locked on Doom's.

Under the cold steel faceplate, Doom's lips curled in a hideous scowl. "You never understood," he said and restrained his anger. "It was never about megalomania. It was and is about Richards. Each of us has dedicated his life to besting the other. Which has led us, in the final calculus, to this conclusion calculated to the twentieth decimal…necessitated by the very nature of our lives, Richards. Our war has come to its natural if underwhelming end and its final result"—Doom hesitated like the expert showman he was—"is Doom."

"You're a son of a bitch," Fury said and pointed an accusing finger.

Reed looked up suddenly. His eyes were intense and they focused on Doom.

For a moment, Reed swore he heard the slight rush of air—Victor exhaling, sighing, and the air pressing against the steel faceplate. And in that moment, the rest of the world melted away. There was no Helicarrier. There were no smoldering bodies of SHIELD agents and Doombots alike. No Nick Fury, no Avengers. Not even Ben or Johnny.

_Just Doom. With a gun to my wife's head._

Just Doom.

_Like it's always been._

Reed's eyes lost their intensity. "It didn't have to be this way, Victor. And it doesn't have to end this way."

"Do you often revise your own history?" Doom asked, and raised an unseen eyebrow.

"No," Reed said. "And that's not my point."

"Then convince me," Doom said and measured the syllables.

"Lower the gun, Victor," Reed said with quickness. "Let her go. And we'll leave peacefully. You say I ruined your life; I believe you. Just…let her go. Let's settle this as the men we are. The way you've always wanted."

Doom cocked his head to one side. Smiled under the faceplate. His arm slowly loosed itself from Susan's bound wrists and he pushed her away from him in a swift gesture. He kept his eyes locked on Reed as he reholstered the pistol. Then Victor von Doom pressed a button on his right-hand gauntlet.

"I have powered down my armor and released the enchantments on it. I stand before you now as a man in an iron shell. If you truly value Susan's life and the lives of everyone else aboard this pitiful abortion in mechanical engineering…you will honor the agreement. No elasticity."

Reed looked down at his hands, tightly formed into fists, steeling himself. Then he looked back at Doom and extended his hand. Doom shook Reed's hand once.

"Done," Doom said. Reed nodded.

Johnny touched one finger to his chin and said, "Am I the only one that thinks this is an extraordinarily bad idea? Can't we just beat the snot out of Doom like we always do?"

Ben whispered in Johnny's ear, "Y'never welch on a bet, Zippo. That's worse'n any killer robot."

Reed looked back toward Johnny and Ben. "It's alright boys. I've fought Annihilus to a standstill and that was without powers. I can handle this."

Reed Richards stepped off, walking toward Doom.

Under the cold steel faceplate, Doom felt…uneasy. Everything had come together flawlessly. So why did he yet feel something was amiss?

Reed kept walking. And pretended not to notice as Namor stood, noiselessly, behind Doom.

Reed put his hands forward, ready for Doom to put him in shackles.

Then Namor spoke. His face was almost unrecognizable. Strands of blood went from his hairline down, over the prominent aquiline nose, curled over grim and downturned lips and smeared across faint stubble. His hair was black and matted from the blood and grime of battle. He focused his weight on one leg, the other most likely broken from the fall. His black bolero was torn and frayed in several places, and hung on him unkempt, tattering in the breeze. He was a wreck, and he stood his ground.

When he spoke it was grave and resolute. The blood at the back of his throat coaxed its way forward and bathed his teeth in unflattering burgundy.

"Victor."

Doom whirled around in place. His eyes burned beneath the faceplate and his jaw quivered.

For once in his life, Victor von Doom simply didn't have an answer.

"Namor?!" Doom thundered, and completely forgot about Reed Richards. "You should not be _**alive**_!"

Doom's fists crackled to life with electric energy. The wind caught his cape and threw it back in an auspicious flourish. Time slowed as the two leviathans lunged at each other, fists at the ready. Spirits blazing.

Ben Grimm, Johnny and Hawkeye started to move for Doom. Reed stretched his arms and stopped them.

"What?" Hawkeye asked. "Why?"

Reed didn't answer. Instead he turned around and gathered Sue close to him, wrapping one arm tightly around her shoulders.

"We need to tend to the wounded and dead—get them below decks. Steve?"

Captain America nodded. "Avengers," he said. Hank Pym grew in size as Cap jumped in the palm of his giant hand. They set out for the nearest pile of bodies. Iron Man followed him while Reed looked to Johnny, Ben and Hawkeye.

"You three get to the Bridge. This thing still floats; see if we can get it to a friendly base." Johnny winked and flamed on, lifting away to the smoking hole of the Admiral's Bridge, carrying Ben with one hand and Hawkeye with the other.

Reed turned to Sue. He wiped a strand of hair from her face and smoothed it back, smearing a bit of grease across her cheekbone. She closed her eyes and smiled. When she opened them again, Reed smiled back. And leaned in. And kissed her.

He pulled away slowly and their eyes locked on each other.

"I love you," Reed said. Meant it.

"I know." Sue's eyes were crisp and inviting and Reed rather melted at the sight.

Reed looked at Doom and Namor. Doom had the King of Atlantis to his knees, fists locked with fists in a mere contest of strength—they weren't fighting. Doom was merely showing off. Gloating in a soon-coming victory.

"Fury," Reed said distantly and looked at Sue again. "Get to the Bridge with the others."

Fury stepped in and grabbed Sue's arm and led her away. Her eyes stayed on Reed. And as Reed turned away from her, his eyes looked forlorn and his face was suddenly very pale.

Sue clenched her jaw and steeled herself. _You can't jump in the middle of this now, Sue. You'd only hurt him. But...which one? Namor. Reed. Does it matter?_

* * *

**Dr Doom and Prince Namor.**

Doom had beaten Namor down to his knees and won the contest of strength in a profoundly underhanded way: he merely increased the mass ratios in his gauntlets and crushed Namor's hands.

Now, at the furthest extremity of the port bow, Victor von Doom held Namor over the edge of the Helicarrier. The evening breeze caused Doom's cape to flutter in the wind. His vision coming and going, on the edge of consciousness, Namor willed himself to see a moment longer.

_Just another moment. That's all I need._

"Pretend for a moment that the rest of the world does not exist. Pretend that this was all an elaborate ploy to finally rid you of what little compassion you had left, and rid myself of the only other foe worthy of Richards' attentions. Tell me, King of Atlantis…have I succeeded?"

Namor's eyes rolled in their sockets and settled on the Lord of Latveria. He cursed Doom's name and said a prayer to his gods that Doom's soul should reside in finality in the furthest depths of Hell. Namor drew a quick and futile breath and relaxed his body.

_No, you foul creature_, he thought and couldn't say. _I will not play…your game._

"Now," Doom said tightly, "is the time of Doom. It is you and me."

"No," Namor choked out. "It's just me."

Beneath the cold steel faceplate, Doom raised an eyebrow. "What?"

Namor wrestled free of Doom's iron grip and fell to the deck in a crouch. He grabbed Doom's legs lazily and flipped the iron-clad dictator over his shoulder. _Do it right_, Namor thought. _Be predictable, Victor._

Doom followed suit. Rocket boosters at his shoulders fired to life on instinct and carried him to the deck of his own carrier for safety and distance from Namor.

_A suddenly rejuvenated Namor_, Doom thought with dissatisfaction. He willed the repulsors in his gauntelts to full power.

And waited for Namor to attack again.

* * *

_**Concluded...**_  



	10. Life Was Good

**Latveria**.

**Nick Fury.**

The Admiral's Bridge on the SHIELD Helicarrier housed, behind the smoking ruins of Doom's missile to the computers, a smaller personal command bridge Fury used only in extreme duress. The room contained a single humidor on a stand—long since blown over by the missile's impact, its contents lost to battle—and a lone Kaypro, property of Nick Fury. He had taken the time to reprogram the dinosaur and give it updated procedures. Procedures which included wireless dedications to every weapon aboard the Helicarrier.

Ben Grimm followed Iron Man and Reed Richards inside Fury's command.

"Geezalou, Fury," he exclaimed. "Y'afraid ta spend a li'l extra dough? I got more memory in my li'l finger'n that thing does!"

"Yes," Fury said. "And this one works fine."

As he slid behind a narrow console and winced at the pain in his leg, Fury figured this was as much duress as he could get. And he hoped the Security Council would understand the…damage to the Helicarrier.

"What are you doing?" Tony Stark's voice, scrambled through a vox digitizer in the Iron Man armor, was unusually inquisitive. Usually he just stormed in and took charge. _Like a damn grunt,_ Fury thought.

"Getting the weapons back online in this heap," Fury said and gritted his teeth in lieu of a cigar. "Richards?"

Reed Richards stepped forward as Fury tapped furiously on the keyboard. Fury opened a pocket on his utility harness and pulled out a small grey remote with a single red button on it. Reed cocked his head at the sight. _Whimsical_.

Fury handed the remote to Richards and went back to typing.

"What's this?" Reed asked and felt slightly naked at not knowing the answer.

"I call it an Omni-Controller, and I've just programmed in the deck gun override."

"From a computer older'n Matchstick here?" Ben was still aghast.

Johnny interrupted with a high-pitched, "Hey!"

Fury said, "Kaypro was a last resort, Ben; the only technology Doom wouldn't think to sabotage. Now, Reed, in one minute you'll have full run of the SHIELD arsenal. And you're gonna use it to blow the good doctor outta the sky."

* * *

**Namor and Doctor Doom. **

Namor got to one knee. Stood and trembled in place. He was losing blood fast. Still, he lifted into the air and landed on Doom's carrier deck slowly. He let out a long sigh and his dying eyes rested on Doom's.

Doom said hatefully, "You still fight?!" He raised his arm and fired one gauntlet repulsor. Maximum firepower.

Namor's vision blurred as the beam slammed into his chest and vaporized what was left of the bolero. He didn't even feel the pain when Doom threw an electrified gauntlet across his face and broke his nose. And despite his broken hands—carpals and metacarpals and digits twisted out of place, snapped and pained by Doom's savagery—Namor closed them into fists as much as he could and started hitting. Each blow hurt more. And he kept going. Kept battering at Doom's impenetrable armor.

Doom caught one broken fist and kicked Namor away. The Lord of Latveria took the respite to check his armor systems. As Namor regained composure, he saw the SHIELD Helicarrier pulling away.

And Reed Richards standing on the bow, saluting him.

Their eyes met in mutual respect. Namor swore he heard Richards say, "thank you" through forlorn eyes and a drawn expression. Namor smiled weakly and raised his hand in acknowledgement.

The Lord of Latveria looked at the SHIELD carrier just in time to see a massive weapon underneath the armor plating on the port side. _An energy weapon of some kind_, Doom's technician mind told him. _Not merely a weapon. __A__ gun.__A__ cannon_

Under the cold steel faceplate, Doom's eyes grew wide as he saw Richards on the flight deck. Richards' blue-gloved hand pressed a button on a remote control, and Doom heard the weapon powering to life.

Doom screamed under the faceplate.

In his frustration, he blew Namor down through the flight deck. Down twenty-seven floors to barracks housing unactivated Doombots. Doom jumped in the smoking crater and hoisted the King of Atlantis. The Lord of Latveria was caught by complete surprise when Namor started hitting him again.

On the SHIELD carrier, the cannon fired a brilliant emerald beam directly into the heart of Doom's carrier.

The beam pierced the armor plating expertly and blew a hole in the hull, throwing fire and debris through the carrier body and out the far side. The armor shuddered and groaned, coping with the sudden change in mass. Entire structures and turbines had been suddenly vaporized, compromising structural integrity. The carrier's power winked off, on, and then finally died. _The weapon__ struck true_, Richards had to admit, _and Nick'__s technological antiquity proved useful after all_. _Right into the power core._

Doom's carrier listed heavily to port and smoke billowed from its charred innards. Very soon fire would engulf the carrier and it would crash into the furrowed countryside of rural Latveria.

The barracks bore the evidence of the SHIELD weapon's destructive nature. Sparks issued from all places, and Doom and Namor still traded blows amidst the epileptic chaos. Doom's customary green hood was scorched and torn, and barely hung on his armored head. His tunic bore a large gash across the chest; his cape was frayed into narrow ribbons and black burn mark striated the cloth. The gauntlets were covered in Namor's blood. Doom's legs ached—a falling steel I-beam had clipped his right leg at the knee and damaged the circuit motivators.

Namor formed his broken hands into one club and brought it down on Doom's shoulder. The Lord of Latveria stumbled to one side, grunted in pain, and backhanded Namor away from him.

Doom felt the lurching, and leaned the opposite way to stay upright. Namor stood and lunged drunkenly at Doom. The Lord of Latveria caught Namor in his arms and pulled him upright sympathetically. The eyes stared into Namor's own, probing, silently comprehending. The King of Atlantis held his ground, and spit blood on the steel faceplate. His eyes were deep and cunning; his brows stretched high and thin over a prominent Atlantean skull.

"This world is not yours to conquer."

The eyes narrowed. "How wrong you are." The Lord of Latveria pressed a thin panel on his gauntlet. And met Namor's aggression with aggression.

* * *

**The Fantastic Four.**

Johnny, Ben and Sue joined Reed on the SHIELD carrier's flight deck. Iron Man lowered to the deck on his boot repulsors, carrying Captain America in one hand and Hawkeye in the other. Hank Pym resumed his normal size and flanked Hawkeye.

They all stood in silence, watching with close and dedicated eyes as an oval of brilliant cerulean flashed to life and engulfed Doom's dying Helicarrier. Smoke issued from the blackened hole in the hull, flames gasped for air behind the armor plating.

Fury wiped sweat and soot from his brow. Lighted a cigar and watched Doom's carrier list toward the energy gate.

The gateway enveloped the carrier, and shut in on itself with a low electric sizzle, leaving nothing.

"Gone," Susan said.

"Yes," Reed said and thought about it for a moment. "Victor's last gambit was to remove himself from the board completely. How perceptive."

"Question." Ben said. "I thought he wanted the Infinity Formula. Think he dropped the ball on that one.

"Yes," Reed said and sounded sad about it. "He overplayed his hand. Like he always did."

Sue looked at the sunset thoughtfully. "So he retreated to the Negative Zone."

"Yes," Reed said. "His Doombot army failed, but he still wanted Namor to himself. Away from my prying eyes."

Johnny said darkly, "He always thought you were after him, Reed. Like you even gave a rat's ass about him." Johnny had to roll his eyes at that.

"I did," Reed said distantly. "In another life."

After a moment Sue said, "We're gonna have to find them someday."

Reed's brow furrowed. "You're right. Namor sacrificed himself so we could get away. The least I can do is bring him back."

Sue raised an eyebrow and smiled thinly. Her lipstick still shone bright ruby. "The least _we_ can do," she corrected. And put her hand forward.

Johnny was quick to join, laying one firm hand on top of his sister's. "Yep," he smiled. "And in the meantime, may I suggest we shut down our own Negative Zone gateway once we get home? I don't care to have an all-homicidal Doom threatening me while I'm in the shower."

Ben put his hand on top of Johnny's. "'Nuff said."

Reed turned and smiled. Laid his hand on top of Ben's rocky paw. "Agreed."

* * *

**Avengers Mansion.**

**Captain America.**

The SHIELD carrier made it Rammstein Air Force Base in Germany. There it entered dry-dock and underwent copious repairs. Tony summoned a Quinjet, and the four of us were back in New York before the hour turned.

On the way, I had a nice long chat with Reed about what had happened.

"I can't thank you enough for coming to our aid, Steve," Reed had said. "You saved the day."

"Namor did," I said. "He…would've been a real asset to the team."

"If he could ever get past his anger," Reed said. "I think he will someday. And maybe Victor as well."

I thought about it. "It's an encouraging thought. And I suppose Victor's out of your hair for at least a little while longer."

"Yes," Reed said. "Maybe we've earned the respite. When they come back…I'll be prepared."

I nodded. "And the Avengers will, too."

* * *

**The Baxter Building.**

**Two nights later.**

Reed had taken Johnny's advice and disassembled the Baxter Building's only Negative Zone gateway and placed a scrambler on the Distortion Area generator. If Doom even thought about getting back through, Reed had reasoned, he'd find himself wanting. There was no way to successfully keep Victor in the Zone—not without sending a dampener or null-field generator through to constantly realign the Distortion Area. Short of building his own gateway, Doom had sent himself and Namor into a willing exile.

Locked in there, along with every other monster that fancied itself a conqueror.

He thought about Namor, and the sacrifice the Ruler of Atlantis had made to ensure the Helicarrier's survival. And how much more he respected Namor for the sacrifice. Reed exiled the last pieces of the gateway into a Moebius dimension he had designed in grad school. And as he disposed of one invention with another, he thought about Namor and the grand project that was Majora.

_Namor had only given them life. Was that so troublesome?_

No, he reminded himself. Life was the gift. To be used for the good of mankind.

_Was that so troublesome?_

Sue had put Franklin to bed, and now joined Reed in the lab.

"You're not going to yell at me for being in the lab again?" Reed asked.

"No. You do look tense, though." She started massaging his shoulders. "What's the matter?"

Without hesitation, Reed said, "I can't help thinking this was some kind of cheap thrill for Victor. Like he simply got bored one day and decided to kill millions of people. And if that's the case…maybe he's lost interest in me."

"Bigger fish to fry? I think not." Sue asked and raised an eyebrow. "Victor's hated you since day one, Reed. Anything else was just smoke and mirrors." She leaned down and kissed Reed lightly on the cheek. "We both know he'll be back. But we'll cross that bridge when we get there—we always have."

Reed smiled back. Maybe, he thought, after all these years things looked like they were finally calming down. And though Reed privately wondered how long the calm would last, he easily accepted it.

That night Reed Richards slept the sleep of kings. With his wife cradled in his arms. With his son safe asleep. Among friends.

Life was good.

* * *

**Ben Grimm and the Human Torch. **

On the roof of the Baxter Building, Ben Grimm leaned against the stone parapet and looked out at the starry Manhattan skyline.

Johnny Storm lowered to the deck behind him and flamed off. "Penny," he said.

Ben waited a moment. "It's quiet."

"That's a problem?"

"An observation. Y'think we dodged a bullet? With Doom?"

"A low-grade pissing contest between two professional pains in our ass? Benjy, I give you a resounding 'meh.'"

"Y'never worry about anything."

"You're worrying about everything," Johnny said and laid a hand on Ben's rocky shoulder. "One step at a time, I say. Show me Kang trying to conquer the Microverse, and I'll show you a fight that's over before dinner. Fighting the weird and wacky is what we do, Ben. That billboard out on Long Island says so."

"It does?"

"Yeah. 'The Fabulous Fantastic Four!' Sounds better than a Spider-Man voodoo doll, doesn't it?"

Ben smiled and laughed, slow and unctuous. "Y'think yer pretty funny don'tcha?"

"Always have," Johnny said.

Ben rolled his eyes. "Yeah yeah..."

"Speaking of, I've got a date. You might know her."

"Really?"

Johnny slapped Ben's back hard. "No." He stepped away quickly as Ben felt his back and ripped off the sheet of looseleaf.

The paper read: _Kick Me, I'm __Orangeish_

Johnny erupted in a high pitched and amused giggle like the boy he professed himself to be. Then he flamed on and rocketed up into the sky, leaving Ben screaming after him.

"I know where you sleep, Johnny Storm!"

Johnny drew a beeline from the Baxter Building out to Liberty Island. He got in close and made a sharp upward shot for her head. Once he cleared the crown, he angled 45 degrees down. Then horizontal.

And circled the flaming '4' logo in a ring of fire.

A smile blazed across Johnny's face as he rocketed away from Liberty Island and out of New York. Behind him, the flaming 4 logo burned brightly for a moment, outshining the stars behind it. Ahead lay the Atlantic at night, a dark and swirling piece of living marble.

Life was good.

* * *

**The End...**  



End file.
